Kallo'Yel Book I: Black Druid
by Holly-chan
Summary: FINISHED The 1st in a trilogy. Follows the early life of a drow elderboy in a Ched Nasad noble house and his trials as he struggles to survive in a matriarchal world. Set in the Forgotten Realms. T for violence & some implied sexual themes.
1. Author's Notes and Prologue

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Author's Notes

Before you read the prologue below, I'd like to make a few comments about my story to prevent any misunderstandings:

Though the story and the characters are my own, I've set it in the Forgotten Realms world, so the setting's not mine. I thought it'd be best to post this story here on because of this.

Sab'vrae is NOT a Drizzt rip-off. At least, I don't think so. Still, there are some unintentional similarities between them, so I wanted to make it clear Sab'vrae is a character I played in Neverwinter Nights long _BEFORE_ I read Salvatore's books and not a copy of his drow ranger.

If you don't know a lot about drow, two important facts are: most drow are evil and chaotic; and, most drow societies are matriarchal -- meaning the females are dominant over the males, daughters inherit from their mothers, etc.

I've done a fair amount of research on the drow and Ched Nasad, but only found limited information on the city. Resources have told me that it is very similar, as far as culture and social structure goes, to Menzoberranzan, the city from which the famous drow ranger Drizzt Do'Urden was born. Aside from similarities to the larger city and what other information I could find, I have depicted Ched Nasad as I have envisioned it. If you happen to know more about Ched Nasad than I do and something is inaccurate in some way in Kallo'Yel, I ask you to throw me a bone and leave the matter be. P

I wrote this story for National Novel Writing Month ( wwwnanowrimoorg -- change the "" to "." since won't allow normal URLs in stories) this year. I reached the 50,000 words in a month goal (even went a bit over), but I'm not releasing it all at once because I need to go back and fix up some problems.

If you see any typos or minor errors, please let me know! And if you review, please tell me what I'm doing right or wrong, so I know what to improve on and what I'm already good at. That way I can improve better as a writer.

If you've actually read this far, I thank you, and I hope you enjoy the first "book" in my Kallo'Yel series: Black Druid. Have fun!

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Prologue

Pain shot though her center, between her thighs. The woman howled in agony, scrunching up her face muscles in a grimace. The younger woman next to her urged her on.

"Matron, it's almost here! Just a few more pushes!" the makeshift midwife insisted, seeing a crown of white hair. Her matron, using all the muscles in her lower body, pushed once more. Bawling loudly, the baby completely emerged, pulled swiftly out by the midwife. Panting, its mother collapsed while the other cut the umbilical cord and cleaned the baby. Holding the naked baby in her arm, the priestess turned to the leader.

"It is over, then." The dark elf matron gasped. "What is it?" she inquired, referring to its gender.

"Congratulations, Matron Bhin'ree, you have a son." Her priestess answered. With surprising newfound energy, Bhin'ree shot up, her glowing eyes flashing in outrage.

"What! A son! I need a daughter! Summon Nath'olin in here... NOW." She snarled. In the matriarchal drow city of Ched Nasad, males were virtually useless, aside from military might and breeding. Daughters were the heirs to their mother's legacy (and usually took over when their power was at its peak and some horrible "accident" befell their mother). A medium-ranked and ambitious matron, Bhin'ree was young but heirless.

She had counted on birthing a female to ensure she had at least one heir should she fall to not-too-uncommon assassination attempts and the other typical dangers of a chaotic and evil drow society. A son meant a possible future weapon master, or, even better, a wizard, but a male was a male: overall, useless.

Bhin'ree's priestess bowed, "Yes, my mistress," and waved her free arm, chanting in an arcane tongue. She wriggled her fingers, dark purple light emitting from them and forming a cackling rune on the floor. A flash of low light, and an armored male drow appeared in place of the rune.

He was tall for a drow, and stockier than most elves. He stood a good head taller than the priestesses and the guard by the door. His long, pearly white hair came down just past mid-back, and his dark armor gave off an enchanted purple light. In his hands he held two long swords, one glowing a crimson red. Behind his purple facial tattoo, his blue eyes scanned the chamber. He quickly sheathed his weapons and bowed on one knee upon seeing his matron.

"You summoned me, my mistress?" he quipped, keeping his eyes locked on the stone floor. He dared not look at his mistress' face unless ordered to. Such blatant disrespect would earn him a most painful punishment, most likely at the hands of the matron mother herself. It didn't matter if he was the weapon master and current patron of house Aleanani, he was still a male, and from a lesser noble family at that.

"Take a good look at that child, my patron. See the first noble born since I became Matron Mother." Bhin'ree ordered, motioning to the still crying babe in the priestess' arms. Nath'olin turned his gaze to the child. Even in infrared vision, he noticed the child gender, pleased to see his offspring was healthy and not deformed. Any disability in a drow newborn usually resulted in death. Deformity was an intolerant trait in a society obsessed with perfection.

"I see him, Matron. A healthy son. Lloth be praised!" Nath'olin declared sincerely, thanking the drow goddess for the blessing.

"You fool!" Bhin'ree barked, standing up, oblivious to the fact nothing covered her slender black body.

"What?" Nath'olin blinked, bemused at the matron's outburst. Her temper was infamous for its short fuse, but what was so horrible about a healthy drow baby?

"I need a worthy daughter, not some worthless male! I have no heir yet, thanks to you!" Bhin'ree growled, her amber eyes narrowing dangerously.

Her patron tried to reason with her, "My mistress, he is only your first child, there'll be plenty more chances to--" Bhin'ree cut him off with another outburst.

"Silence! There will be no more chances for you, my patron. I deem your loins unworthy of siring anymore nobles!" She declared with a forceful wave of her hand.

Completely ignoring drow protocol by now, Nath'olin met the woman's gaze, pleading, "Mistress, please!"

"No more words, Nath'olin!" The drow matron ordered, her eyes glowing white as she waved her arm, blue magic sweeping from it and slamming into Nath'olin's neck. The weapon master instinctively drew his blades at the attack, but dropped them with a clatter as he felt his esophagus constrict painfully, cutting off his airflow. He clutched his throat, gurgling in his weak attempts to breathe. His neck burning, the magic closed it completely, and the lack of oxygen reached his brain with a pounding rush. Nath'olin gagged a few more moments, his dark lips turning blue, before stumbling to the ground, his armor clanging against the stone ground. His body twitched a few moments before falling motionless, his life force utterly drained from his body.

"Guard!" Bhin'ree barked. The male jumped to attention, his gaze pulling away from the dead weapon master. "Fetch Dilaere! Tell him he is the new weapon master and patron of this house."

"Y-yes, Mistress." The guard sputtered, fearful of her vengeance after the display of the patron's demise. He scurried from the room. Bhin'ree turned to her priestess and child, who had yet to quell his bawls.

"I suppose my... son... will have to do for now." She grudgingly accepted the fact of her first child's gender.

"What…" her priestess hesitated, "what shall you name him, my mistress?" Bhin'ree pondered the question for a brief moment.

"'Sab'vrae' will suffice." She decided.

"But mistress, isn't '-vrae' a feminine suffix?" her priestess asked. The matron merely glared at her servant, who quickly retracted the query. It seemed Bhin'ree would make her wish for a female child obvious in her son's name.

Bhin'ree scowled at little Sab'vrae's cries, "Get this squabbling brat out of my sight! I have more important things to attend to!" She barked to her priestess. The younger woman bowed and quickly complied. Bhin'ree rubbed her temple, agitated.

"Dilaere would be wise in siring a daughter soon…" she muttered.


	2. Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

"Masantar! Quit it!" Sab'vrae held up his arms in self-defense as his younger sister attacked him with her toy priestess whip.

"That's 'mistress' to you, male! Have you learned nothing about your place in life?" Already twisted at a young age, Masantar loved tormenting the elderboy of their house, namely, her half-brother. Unlike most elven siblings, Sab'vrae and Masantar were unusually close in age -- only a mere three years separated them. Despite this, no closeness or any sort of special bond existed between the half-siblings -- aside from the fact until Sab'vrae reached ten years of age, they found themselves tutored by the same house priestess and shared living quarters in the house chapel.

Normally the drow noble children would be taught and raised by an elder female sibling, and apart from each other. However, they were the first (and so far, only) offspring of the matron, and their house was merely medium-rank in Ched Nasad, leaving the family shorthanded for personal teachers.

Already nine years young, Sab'vrae still retained some of his child ignorance about the cruelties of drow society. Every day his sister slowly hacked away at this ignorance with her horrid pranks and blatant support of a female dominated society. Their tutor, Vicala, made no attempt to quell the Aleanani heir from tormenting the Aleanani elderboy. By all accounts, Sab'vrae suspected she encouraged it. A bitter child, the eldest noble heir in his household took to spending much time alone, studying books on magic and fighting. His favorite pastime including dueling with imaginary creatures using his wooden blades. Because his skills went officially untested by his mother, currently the young drow did not know whether he would be sent to be trained as a fighter or as a mage by a private teacher when he finally reached his tenth year.

Sab'vrae held interest in both magic and fighting, and seemed quite talented in each area. However, he found his play fighting more enjoyable, and hoped his mother would decide to make him a warrior, not a mage. Wizards, nearly always male, were a rare breed in drow society, and highly valuable to noble families -- well, as valuable as drow males managed to achieve. Knowing this, he suspected his mother preferred to groom him into a mage, but, if he showed more talent in agility and reflexes of a fighter, teaching him as warrior proved the wiser choice. Drow society demanded its people be the best at whatever they did.

The elderboy twitched, feeling the sharp sting of the leather whip on his back. He resisted the strong urge to attack his sister back, knowing well where such actions led to, even for a child. Thankfully, Masantar lost interest in tormenting her older brother for the moment. She wandered off to bother Vicala about The Spider Queen's teachings. The noble female always held a passion for Lloth's edicts, even at a very young age of six. Already she knew more than girls three times her age. This news pleased her mother greatly, knowing her daughter held a passion for her future station in life. Sab'vrae's talents too pleased Bhin'ree; her son hardly acted rebellious, like many males his age, and his skills continued to develop each day. Both children proved aspiring useful tools in the complex game drow noble families played.

Finally alone, Sab'vrae busied himself with the duties he'd been procrastinating on all day. Hopefully Vicala would be busy with Masantar and not notice the sacrificial altar still retained much blood and dirt from the last offering. Grumbling to himself, the elderboy retrieved a bucket of water and a rag before scrubbing away at the gory chantry.

"Your son's approaching his tenth year, dread mistress." Dilaere, the current patron, weapon master, and father of Masantar, reminded Matron Bhin'ree.

"I know, Dilaere," Bhin'ree sighed, "You don't need to remind me. Why do you bother, anyway? It's not like he's your spawn. No, in fact, he is the only child of your late rival."

"What rival?" Dilaere sneered, to which Bhin'ree returned with a smirk. Drow culture often erased the murdered from history, as if they never existed. Murder was a crime in most drow cities, but only if the crime left evidence. In reality, the punishment wasn't for the crime itself, only that the killer allowed themselves to get caught. Drow, in truth, secretly applauded those who literally got away with murder. Often most knew who the killer was, but with no true proof, the victim vanished from everyone's minds; at least, officially, they did.

"In any case, his future is none of your concern…" Bhin'ree pointed out to her consort, "… Unless you have alternative motives I am unaware of?"

"Merely that I have no students of merit at the moment," Dilaere admitted, bowing his head low, "I must say that I truly hope your son becomes a warrior worthy of learning my skills."

"Are you sure you won't feel threatened by Sab'vrae?" Bhin'ree asked, "After all, he may have inherited his father's abilities. Why would you want to develop the seed of your dead rival's skills?"

"What better way to get revenge than to teach a rival's child in his enemy's skills?" Dilaere stated off-handedly. Bhin'ree's white teeth contrasted with her raven skin, her mouth cracking into an approving smile.

"I will decided his fate soon enough. In fact, I expect you and Spiras to be present when the time comes." Dilaere stiffened slightly, but nodded in agreement. Spiras was Bhin'ree's younger brother, and the house mage. Often, drow killed their siblings when they usurped the title of matron from their mother. Siblings often counted as rivals more than allies. Apparently, Bhin'ree found Spiras more useful to her alive. Spiras strongly supported Nath'olin in his rivalry with Dilaere when the former weapon master still lived, and made this painfully obvious to the current patron at every opportunity. Needless to say, Dilaere trusted Spiras no more than he trusted Bhin'ree -- not at all.

Vicala discovered Sab'vrae absorbed in a book on melee combat when she finally found him.

"Sab'vrae!" She shouted to gain his attention. The young drow snapped his head up.

"Y-yes, mistress?" he asked, carefully avoiding her direct gaze.

"Matron Bhin'ree requests your presence in her throne room." His mentor declared, motioning for him to quickly follow her. Sab'vrae blinked, closing his book. The last time his mother met with him, Masantar was a newborn. Drow families, especially noble ones, hardly revolved around a nurturing environment. The Aleanani elder boy quickly followed Vicala out of the church quarters, the first time he'd done so in many years.

"Is Masantar going to be there?" Sab'vrae asked with more than a little apprehension. Vicala snorted.

"No, boy," she answered, "This meeting concerns only you, not your sister. Her future has already been decided since the day she was born: A Lloth priestess. You, however, need to be tested on your skills so the Matron can decide what to do with you." Sab'vrae nodded, though he doubted Vicala noticed.

With their brisk pace, the duo spent little time traveling and soon arrived at the throne room's doors. Boldly, Vicala stared down the male guards and pushed open the large doors, marching into her mistress' chamber.

"Matron, I present to you, Sab'vrae." The priestess bowed. Bhin'ree nodded, waving her away.

"That is all, Vicala, thank you." The matron dismissed her servant. Dilaere watched with narrowed eyes from the matron's right side. To her left stood a short, yet intimidating male. His long white locks were braided tightly behind his head, falling an inch past his buttocks. Long, flowing blue and purple robes adorned the mage's body. Sab'vrae tilted his head slightly, barely recognizing his uncle, Spiras.

"You summoned me, mo-Matron?" Sab'vrae quickly fixed the near misnomer. Bhin'ree raised a slender eyebrow approvingly. If nothing else, her son knew his station in life.

"It is almost your tenth year, Sab'vrae," she began, "And we must decide where to send you -- to Dilaere as a warrior trainee, or to Spiras as a magic student. Tell me, boy, do you have a preference?"

Sab'vrae recalled Vicala's many teachings and warnings of subtle tests given by matrons, especially to males, "Whatever the matron deems appropriate." He recited. Bhin'ree smirked, once again approving his teachings.

"I shall test you, then. Vicala tells me you could make a decent mage, but your talents seem to lean more towards a warrior's path. Let's find out for ourselves, shall we? Spiras?" Her brother stepped forward. "Go ahead."

The mage nodded, turning to his nephew, "Sab'vrae, levitate and ascend until I tell you to stop." He ordered. Sab'vrae nodded, calling his innate drow abilities. He hovered above the ground, slowly rising until he reached ten feet.

"Enough. Descend and cast a globe of darkness." Spiras said. Sab'vrae lowered himself and called forth a sphere of sheer blackness that not even infrared vision could penetrate.

"Hm. Three feet in diameter. Not bad for one his age, but I've seen much better." Spiras stated, finished with his test.

"Dilaere, your turn." Bhin'ree ordered as Spiras stepped back. Dilaere came forward, tossing a staff without warning at the child. Instinctively, Sab'vrae grabbed the staff, keeping the shaft safely away from his face.

"Excellent reflexes." The weapon master noted. "Now, try to attack me." Sab'vrae tilted his head in puzzlement. "Do as I say!" barked Dilaere. The child rushed forward, swinging the staff at the elder drow. Dilaere easily dodged the main attack, but barely avoided the second, surprise follow-up that nearly clipped his chin.

"His finesse is already finer than any of my current students." Dilaere noted to the matron, suddenly attempting to strike Sab'vrae with the flat side of his katana. The elderboy quickly blocked with his staff, "And, as already noted, his reflexes excel far beyond most his age." Bhin'ree nodded, mulling over the choice for a few moments.

"Indeed, he would make a better warrior than a mage, though I suppose his magic skills are still above average. Sab'vrae, you will begin your training as a fighter on your next birthday. The next ten years will be spent in Dilaere's care, where he will hone your abilities until you are ready to enlist in the Fighter's Academy." Sab'vrae barely surpressed his grin, bowing lowly to his mother.

"Thank you, Matron, on your wise choice." Bhin'ree shrugged, motioning for him to leave. As the child left, Dilaere turned to Spiras, smiling smugly at the mage, who only replied with a deep scowl.


	3. Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

"No, no, you fool! Put your weight on your right foot when you strike with your left!" Dilaere smacked his pupil with the flat of his blade in chastisement. Duel wielding always proved difficult to teach, even with the brightest of his pupils, it seemed. Sab'vrae, well used to such punishment after five years, never bothered to rub the small weld on his skull.

"I'll get it right, I promise." The teenager vowed. Dilaere snorted.

"Don't make promises. Just do it. Keep practicing your drills. I'm done with you for the day." With that, the weapon master exited his training chambers. Sab'vrae sighed, pulling his _piwafwi_, an enchanted cloak all drow nobles received, closer to himself. Dilaere never went easy on him, probably because he expected more. The teenager rolled his eyes. What else should he expect when his father rivaled Dilaere in life? True, Nath'olin died on his day of birth, but Sab'vrae overheard enough conversations between the adults in his fifteen years of life to realize he did not come from Dilaere's bloodline.

Sometimes he felt his teacher withheld lessons from him for long periods of time, almost as if afraid of his pupil's potential. This only added to Sab'vrae's curiosity of his father's skill. Shrugging, the student exercised his legs, working on his balance. By himself, the noble had no trouble duel wielding, but when his instructor tested and sparred with him, Sab'vrae found himself reduced to a bumbling oaf. Perhaps Dilaere's constant criticisms of him made the drow nervous. The elderboy needed to block out the weapon master's judging words and bolster his own confidence.

Despite Dilaere's roughness, Sab'vrae found he much preferred living here than with Vicala and his wretched sister. The weapon master's wing was a more than welcome change. Sab'vrae still recalled the day he left Vicala's care and entered Dilaere's large chambers…

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The main room in the weapon master's wing spread out wide in all directions. The small drow's footsteps echoed loudly off the stone walls. Sab'vrae looked about, trying to detect Dilaere. Normally, finding other dark elves was never too difficult -- the heat radiating off living bodies greatly contrasted with the cold stone walls in infrared vision. When no sign of another drow came to the young noble, Sab'vrae sighed and plopped down on the ground.

He nearly jumped to the ceiling when he heard, "Get up, boy," behind him. Sab'vrae turned to see the slim weapon master behind him. Dilaere wasn't the best looking drow Sab'vrae ever saw, but he supposed the warrior passed as average looking by the typical drow standard of beauty. Dilaere's face was long, his chin pointed. His amber eyes, smaller than most, narrowed at the little boy's start. He kept his pearly long hair loose, flowing freely past his shoulders, down to his mid-back. Much of it hung in front of his long, pointed ears, shielding his face from view when looking from certain angles.

Dilaere held two katana in his hands. Aleanani's weapon master was well known in Ched Nasad for his kensai skills. He twirled his blades casually, pushing his piwafwi cloak back.

__

So that's how he snuck up on me. Sab'vrae noted. Piwafwi cloaks masked body heat from infrared vision, among other things. Dilaere spoke again.

"Well, Master Sab'vrae, as you know, the Matron has decided you are best suited to be a fighter, and your decade of training begins today."

"Will I be here a lot?" the young elf questioned.

"You will hardly leave this room for the next ten years, if at all. Your food will be brought to you, and everything else you need is here." His new master answered.

"Thank Lloth!" Sab'vrae sighed, "I can't stand being around Masantar. I'm sick of that brat always lashing me with that stupid toy whip of hers..." Barely finished with the sentence, Sab'vrae felt the sharp sting on his cheek when Dilaere slapped him.

"You will _never_ speak of a female as such, especially when she is a noble in your station." The weapon master warned in a low growl.

Sab'vrae rubbed his sore face, "Just cuz she's your daughter--" Dilaere cut him off.

"That has nothing to do with it." He snapped, "Remember, boy, that is all you are: A male. We must always respect our superiors, and that means all females in and above our station. It is Lloth's own edict. Besides... you never know when the Matrons are watching." Saying this, the elder drow looked about the room cautiously.

Sab'vrae rubbed his cheek again, "I guess." He muttered. Dilaere turned back to his newest pupil.

"Now, enough bantering, Sab'vrae. We shall begin. See that weapon rack over there?" he used his katana to point at the stand of weapons, "Select one of them and we'll begin the lessons." Sab'vrae walked over to the rack, inspecting the large assortment of weapons.

"Oh, I'll take this cool sword!" He exclaimed, picking up a long sword and stumbling, trying to keep balance. Dilaere sighed, shaking his head.

"We're going to have to work on your balance and strength first, it seems. Now, first we…" he instantly began his drills with the young noble.

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Sab'vrae grumbled to himself, easily twisting his body about to attack a dummy with both blades. "My balance is better than anyone else's here, expect Dilaere's, and I'm stronger than most males." He looked at the muscles rippling under his black skin, chiseling out his slender elven body. "I just need to prove that to Dilaere." Sab'vrae dodged an attack from the enchanted dummy, parrying the blow and following up with a quick flick of his wrist, sending the doll's cloth head flying.

He glanced down at the light bruise the dummy's last blow had left, "Apparently, though, my agility still needs a lot more honing."

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"Ha! You call that an attack? A _rothe_ could do better!" Dilaere mocked his seventeen-year-old student as they sparred. _Rothe_ were, essentially, underground cattle. Sab'vrae grit his teeth, blocking out his teacher's taunts. Usually they wore his defenses down, but Sab'vrae made a careful effort to tune them out, only concentrating on the battle itself. Long swords clanged against katana, then slid away from each other as the owners twisted their bodies about in battle.

Sab'vrae ducked a swing to his head, countering with a quick stab to the underarm. Dilaere dodged, parrying with his exotic weapons. The weapon master yelped in surprise when he felt his katana fly from his fingers, hitting the ground with a loud clatter. He blinked dumbly at Sab'vrae, who tapped the flat of his sword to his master's shoulder.

"Slash. You're dead." Sab'vrae grinned. Dilaere glared at him, but relented.

"So, you're finally learning something, boy." He mused.

"I just need to block out your sad attempts at insults." His pupil countered.

"Oh, really?" Dilaere picked up his blades. "Another round, then." He thrust his katana forward, which Sab'vrae easily blocked. Dilaere twitched, countering his students well-aimed attacks. _He inherited too much from his father. He's getting too even with me._ Thought the weapon master with worry. Still, if Sab'vrae entered Barra Velve, the academy for Ched Nasad's fighters, like this, Dilaere earned bragging rights to anger his current rivals with. Very few of his opponents could boast of a pupil with this skill. Perhaps Sab'vrae's superior abilities could serve him well in his own ambitions after the teenager completed training at Barra Velve…

Dilaere smirked to himself, even as Sab'vrae disarmed him once more.


	4. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Sab'vrae roused himself from his slumber, rubbing a tired eye. It'd been ten long years since he started training with the house weapon master, Dilaere. He'd been a strict teacher, never going easy on Sab'vrae, but he came out of his harsh training a much better, prepared fighter. Or, so he believed.

The ten years passed well for Sab'vrae, both in skill and physical looks. Unlike most drow, Sab'vrae was not particularly vain. He considered himself average looking, but, by drow standards, his features were to be envied. His deceivingly slender frame was nicely chiseled, an attractive athletic body, not overly muscle bound, like a human berserker or an orc. His long, velvety ivory hair flowed down to a few inches above his waist, contrasting wonderfully with his smooth, ebony skin. Around his defined biceps and thighs wove purple and blue tattoo designs, identifying him as an Aleanani noble. Light blue, almond eyes scanned through the darkness, usually alight red with the radiating heat of ultraviolet vision under narrow, yet slightly thick, eyebrows.

Sab'vrae's elven countenance could appeal to many of almost any race. Extended, pointed ears expanded far from his face without appearing awkward. His chin, long and slender, like most elven features, ended in a rounded point, complimenting his long and slightly narrow nose. Simple, small gold loop earrings adorned each of his dark earlobes. Many dark elf females would find him an excellent choice as a patron, if given the chance.

Dilaere shouted as he walked into the main room, "Sab'vrae! Sab'vrae! Get in here!" He barked. Sab'vrae scrambled out of bed.

"Coming, Master!" he yelled back, quickly pulling on a pair of leather pants and boots. He didn't bother with a shirt; the Underdark was actually quite warm. Drow wore clothes for protection, not modesty. Grabbing his two long swords, Sab'vrae already decided he didn't need the meager protection of a long-sleeved shirt anyway. He walked into the main chamber, prepared for whatever the weapon master had in store for him.

"Pack your things, boy, this is your last day training with me." Dilaere stated. Sab'vrae blinked in surprise, then quickly guessed why.

"It's time for me to go to Barra Velve, isn't it?" He asked. Dilaere grinned.

"It's good to know my student's not a complete _wael_, a fool. Very good, boy, you are going to the fighter school, Barra Velve. Get your things and we'll get going." Sab'vrae bowed and returned to his bedchamber, grabbing a bag of holding. He shoveled in a few sets of clothing and trinkets. He began to put his sword in, then thought better of it, instead sheathing it to a belt he strapped onto his back. He threw his piwafwi over himself, pulling it back slightly, keeping access to his blade. Sab'vrae reentered the main chamber.

"So, have you gathered your belongings?" Dilaere asked.

"Yes, Master. I am ready to go." Sab'vrae motioned to his pack and blades.

"Good. Now, follow behind me," Dilaere motioned for Sab'vrae to move, " and don't do anything STUPID." He warned as they left the chamber together for the first time.

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"Well, we're here."

The duo walked into an immense hall, teeming with other, mostly male, drow. The ceiling reached high into the air, beyond anyone's perception to see the top.

"Wow. This place is a lot bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside." Sab'vrae gaped, staring at the endless ceiling.

"Simple enchantments, my student. You can't avoid them in this city, even in the fighter's school." Dilaere reminded.

"So... time for us to part, right?" Sab'vrae turned to his teacher. He felt no close bond to the older drow, but he had come accustomed to seeing the weapon master each day for a decade.

"Not just yet..." Dilaere hesitated, then lowered his voice, "the standard weapons given out at school are trash. Take this blade to duel-wield with the other one you already have." He handed Sab'vrae a beautiful long sword that let off a dark red glow. Unlike most long swords, the blade was slightly curved, the sharper cutting edge running along it. Obviously, this enchanted sword was designed for clean slashing movements without losing its stabbing potential.

"Wow... this is a nice blade." Sab'vrae held the sword in his hands, inspecting the fine craftsmanship.

"Yes, well..." Dilaere coughed, "it was Nath'olin's, the former weapon master of our House."

"Oh... you mean my dad."

"Yes…" Dilaere mumbled after another brief moment of hesitation. The boy was bright, so why wouldn't he have figured out his parentage by now?

"Heh, I didn't know you were the sentimental type, master." Sab'vrae mocked.

Dilaere snorted, "Hardly. Nath'olin may have been incompetent, but his weapons are worthy for use of my best student. I don't need them, myself. I prefer my katana." He patted the blades at his sides, turning away from Sab'vrae, "Don't make me look like a fool for training you while you're here, understand?" Dilaere warned.

Sab'vrae smirked, "'Good luck,' in other words. Goodbye, Dilaere." His teacher rolled his eyes, stalking out of the academy.

"So, looks like we have a new victim, right guys?" Sab'vrae turned to see a few older students snickering at him. "What's your name, kid?"

"Sab'vrae Aleanani, of House Aleanani." He answered, still clutching his father's blade in hand. His provoking peers tensed slightly at the mention of his name, however. It matched the name of his house, and the insignia on his piwafwi's brooch.

"Lay off, Xunor." A shorter drow warned, "We don't want trouble with any nobles." Xunor, the tallest, sighed.

"This is true… still, be careful here, Sab'vrae. You don't want to make enemies here. Many students never see graduation. Many… accidents can happen." The elder drow waved to his friends, and they all skulked off. Sab'vrae raised a white eyebrow. Xunor's comment passed not only as fair warning, but also as a veiled threat. Though he spent the past ten years in Dilaere's chambers, Sab'vrae still heard news of recent events, and knew all about drow "accidents." He decided then and there while sleeping, his blades remained in his grasp. Thankfully, he already slept very lightly.

Dozens more recruits gathered in the large hallway before an instructor stood at the front of the chamber, yelling for everyone's attention. The noise died down, old and new students alike waiting for the leader's words.

"Barra Velve welcomes its students, old and new alike," he began, "To those of you unfamiliar to the academy, I am the head of Barra Velve, Nalfein Berri'erves." Hushed murmurs arose in the crowd. House Berri'erves was one of the twelve ruling Houses of Ched Nasad. Nalfein, the secondboy, once served as Berri'erves' weapon master, but for the past few centuries, ran the Fighter's Academy.

The head drow was an odd sight to behold. From the waist down, drow plate armor covered him in light blue and silver metal that identified him as a Barra Velve instructor. Only metallic belts covered his torso, intersecting at the middle of his chest and back, where he bore Berri'erves' insignia. A chain mail sleeve, connect to a spiked shoulder pad, ran down his left arm, where it disappeared into his spiked gauntlet. His right arm was bare, aside from the orange and brown tattoos that identified him as a Berri'erves noble.

Perhaps his oddest quality, however, was the fact he kept his long hair dyed a deep, slightly brownish, red hue, spiking the ends of it into long points. In his left hand Nalfein gripped a glowing red short sword, its blade notched into multiple sections, designed to hack into enemies with more damage and pain. In his left, he held a dagger with a zigzagging blade, also meant to cut into opponents with more pain. The dagger let off a small, light green glow, dripping magical acid from the tip.

Nalfein glared at the students, waiting for them to silence themselves before continuing, "Students of the same year will sleep in the same barracks. Keep your rivalries outside of lessons -- anyone caught attempting vengeance on another student will be punished severely."

Many of the students grinned, their light teeth contrasting with their black skin. The key word in that sentence was "caught" -- anyone who managed to kill or maim others without veritable proof usually received silent congratulations from the other pupils and instructors, even Nalfein himself. Sometimes the perfect way to become the best student was to eliminate the worthy competition in their sleep.

"You will only train with those in your same grade level," Nalfein continued, "The only time inter-class mingling is allowed is during religious holidays and during meal hours. While here, you will not only fine tune your warrior abilities, but also improve your academic and arcane skills: even a fighter will find magic useful to him in times of great need. Nothing on the skills of wizards, mind you, but students will learn basic spells that can aide in battle. History, literature, and Lloth's dogma will all be taught outside of battle training, so be prepared to exercise your mind as well as your body." Nalfein twirled his blades, finishing his speech.

"Now, all students, proceed to your proper level instructors. They will take you to your chambers. Each grade will start in different lessons afterwards. The instructors are standing below the grade number they represent. Now, get moving." Nalfein motioned the students onwards. Sab'vrae scanned through the crowd until he found a tall and somewhat chubby drow standing below a large "level one" glyph.

"First year students will be participating in an all-out mock melee combat." The obese instructor explained in a gruff voice, "You will use wooden weapons, not your real ones. Those will be confiscated before you enter the arena. When an opponent hits you in a critical area, or knocks you over, you are out. Our resident mages will ensure this fact by illuminating losers with a blue light. Remain where you are when called out. The last one standing is this year's winner.

"At the end of your next nine years, we will hold these melee battles again to see who has learned the most during the year. Those who keep an excellent winning record will find favor in their respective houses. Now, follow me to the arena." He motioned for his group of young drow, all barely two decades of age, to follow.

Sab'vrae dragged along around the middle of the line, looking about Barra Velve's vast walls.

"Huge, isn't it?" A short, fox-faced drow behind him quipped.

"Indeed." Sab'vrae agreed, but said little else.

"So, you're the elderboy from House Aleanani, right?" The boy continued, "I heard you talking to the older students before Nalfein's speech." Sab'vrae only nodded in reply, "Not bad, I suppose. My name's Alton'rak. I'm the thirdboy of House Noquar, one of the Ruling Twelve."

"I know of House Noquar." Sab'vrae replied, uninterested in small talk with another noble. Besides, Alton'rak's blood red and purple clothes already identified him as one of Noquar's noble born. Sab'vrae cared little for useless information.

"Well, make sure you pay me proper respect. Your house is still only ranked twenty-first in the city. A medium-class noble family. Not bad off, but still far below Noquar's third rank." Alton'rak stated smugly. Sab'vrae withheld a derisive snort, for his own sake. He also cared little for the typical overflowing arrogance of Ched Nasad's high nobles.

The Aleanani noble valued pride, of course, but well-retained pride and those with tact. Arrogance was a common drow trait, but throwing it about carelessly made quick enemies. How Alton'rak survived childhood, Sab'vrae didn't know, nor particularly care.

"Here's the entrance," their leader spoke from in front, "Leave your weapons with the guards. They will be brought to your barracks. Don't try to smuggle in any concealed weapons -- the doors are enchanted to catch them. Anyone caught smuggling real weapons here will be disqualified from this year's melee battle and punished." Some of the students looked wary at the thought of leaving their precious weapons at the hands of the gruff guards.

"Your weapons will be in their proper place, rest assured. Your houses' weapon masters enchanted them with temporary anti-theft charms before you came here," the instructor assured them, as if reading their minds, "The guards won't be able to steal them, and neither will other students who are unsatisfied with their own weapons." He glared at some of the dejected would-be thieves.

"Well, get moving. The wizards and instructors hate having their time wasted." With that, the chubby drow turn and walked through the large doorway into the arena.

Sab'vrae reluctantly turned over his swords and hidden daggers to the nearest guards. He turned to a pile of wooden weapons, finding a pair of mock long swords closest to the length and feel of his own blades. He took a few practices slashes, then proceeded through the entrance.

The arena stretched out about two hundred yards in diameter, enough to easily hold the few hundred new students. Sab'vrae walked out near the center, waiting for the other students to follow into the indoor stadium.


	5. Chapter 4

****

Chapter 4

As the dozens of students piled into the arena, Sab'vrae shifted his gaze up at the judging wizards. Many placed themselves on overhead platforms, but a few selected to simply levitate themselves high above the dirt ground, a testament their magical prowess. Some went as high as the top of the dome; barely within Sab'vrae range of sight.

The noble turned his head back down to his surrounding students, waiting patiently for the instructor to signal the beginning of the melee combat. Alton'rak wove his way through the crowd, apparently finding the center the most desirable starting point. He cocked his head to one side, his narrow, yellow eyes leering at Sab'vrae. In his hands he kept a tight grip on a wooden spear.

"I would wish you good luck," Alton'rak began, "but that would be a waste of breath. I'm going to win." Sab'vrae grunted in retort, unfazed. His superior glared, then smirked once more, "You won't last long against my spear. I have a far better reach than you."

"Yes." Sab'vrae replied in understanding, not agreement. Before Alton'rak could prod the Aleanani noble more, the chubby teacher walked onto a platform above them, a wizard magically amplifying his voice so all the stadium could hear.

"The melee combat will begin in a moment, but first, a few rules: You may use any cantrips you have learned in your childhood, but no complex spells, which, you shouldn't have learned at all, anyway. Remember, when you are hit in a critical area, you are out. Once out, you stay out. That is all. You may begin your battle."

Drow fell upon each other before the last syllable fell from their teacher's lips. Sab'vrae found himself flanked by two smaller drow, one wielding two mock short swords, the other a wooden scimitar. Sab'vrae, at five-foot-two, reached fairly high for a male drow, which seemed to mark him as an easier target to his opponents; the more there is, the easier to hit. The noble surmised the duo had made a temporary agreement before the combat: they charged together, a planned move meant to stick him in the middle.

Sab'vrae gracefully twisted out of the way, surprising his would-be attackers, sending them crashing into each other. One took advantage of the situation, poking his wooden blade in the other drow's side. The scimitar drow fell to the ground, surprised at the quick betrayal. A wizard lit him in a bluish hue, declaring, "Out!" before Sab'vrae hit the betraying drow in the neck. He crumbled, also lit up, his former comrade smirking at the poetic justice. Short Sword Boy returned it with a harsh scowl.

"Great finesse, but you're still out of your league." Sab'vrae instinctively ducked, Alton'rak's spear swooshing over his head. Sab'vrae shifted his balance instantaneously, turning himself to face his new opponent. Alton'rak smirked, stabbing his long weapon forward, surprised when Sab'vrae easily deflected it.

"Longer reach, but much more cumbersome." Sab'vrae stated simply. He noticed the heat rise in Alton'rak's cheeks, though from embarrassment or anger, or both, he knew not. The Noquar noble advanced again, this time swinging the wooden shaft, intending to catch Sab'vrae in the neck. Sab'vrae ducked once more with relative ease, bringing himself well within arm's reach of Alton'rak. The higher noble's eyes widened in surprise, locked onto Sab'vrae's glimmering blue orbs.

"That was a mistake." For the first time that evening, he cracked a true grin, hitting the "blade" of his sword into Alton'rak's forehead, sending the male tumbling. Noquar's thirdboy found himself illuminated in blue.

"Out." Declared the overhead wizard. Alton'rak scowled at Sab'vrae, who already turned his attentions elsewhere. His blood boiled in abashment, intent on revenge. Next year, the Aleanani boy was his first target in next year's match, but he wouldn't announce it in the melee combat. Stealth would suit him far better.

Unaware of early plots against him, Sab'vrae twirled and wove through the web of tangled arms, avoiding any direct or indirect blows aimed at him. He met a taller student head on, quickly bringing him down with two quick slashes across the abdomen. Deflecting a dagger, Sab'vrae thrust his own mock blades forward, swishing them about with great finesse and concentration. Many fellow students fell, feeling the harsh impact of the wooden long swords.

Before long, the hundreds narrowed down to fifteen, Sab'vrae among them. The losing, glowing drow glared enviously at their classmates. To make it in the top ten in any year, especially the first, was a great personal victory, and very appeasing to their house. Two of the fifteen felt blows to their heads, blue before they hit the floor. The remaining thirteen proved difficult to defeat, however.

All obviously trained diligently under their respective house weapon masters, none yielding to the other twelve. Sab'vrae sidestepped a stab, countering with a slash, missing by fractions of an inch. He followed up with an unexpected under stab, striking his classmate in the ribs. The young drow doubled over in agony, out from the match. Sab'vrae barely blocked the blow from behind, his adrenaline flowing throughout his ebony body.

He locked wits and skills with his latest enemy, another duel swordsman. Their wooden blades clanked and clunked against each other, many of the disqualified students gaping in awe at the spectacle. The blades slide off each other with grace after each attack, each block. So far, this fellow duel wielder proved Sab'vrae's most talented opponent yet. Their leather-clad feet danced about the dirt ground, subconsciously avoiding the fallen students.

Recalling back to his teachings, Sab'vrae took a deep breath, resisting the urge to following his opponents movements. Instead, he locked gaze with his eyes. Long ago Dilaere drilled into him the importance of an enemy's eyes in combat. True, eyes lied with skilled warriors, but with even finer training, a keen observer could detect the false. Sab'vrae met his opponents move quicker, using flowing movements, keeping their eyes connected at all times.

Finally, sensing his foe's dwindling patience, Sab'vrae noticed the eye's lie he awaited. His opponent feigned left, to which Sab'vrae faked at blow. Suddenly, the enemy struck to the right, but already prepared, Sab'vrae blocked with one blade, using the other to stab at his foe's stomach. Wind rushed out of the drow's lungs, sending him to the ground gasping for air. The wizards illuminated the failing drow.

Sab'vrae wasted little time in celebrating his victory, instead turning his focus back to the other nine remaining. He stalled a slight too long, though, for upon completing his turn, bright stars filled his vision, flashing before his eyes as a sharp pain thundered through his brain. The blow to his head sent him stumbling, barely keeping his balance. Despite his ability to still stand, Sab'vrae found his own person illuminated in the dreaded blue wizard's glow.

"Out!" Sab'vrae sighed once his head cleared. Next year, he'd focus more on his surroundings, as they proved just as important as the enemy directly ahead.

---------

"So, how was Aleanani's elderboy in Barra Velve's melee test this year?" Matron Bhin'ree inquired the kneeling weapon master before her.

Dilaere kept his gaze locked upon the ground, and most wise choice, even when Bhin'ree was in her better moods. Still, he barely contained his smug pride, "Out of hundreds, he ended tenth in his class." Bhin'ree raised her perl eyebrows, amber eyes lit with surprise.

"The top ten in his first year?" She asked with more than a little skepticism.

"I do not lie, dread mistress. Barra Velve would tell you the same if you wished to hear from them."

"No," she shook her head, despite the fact he couldn't see her, "I will trust you on this, Dilaere. It seems your training had a wonderful impact on my son. Neither you nor Nath'olin managed top ten your first year."

"Very few weapon masters in Ched Nasad could boast about their teaching skills as much as I." Her patron replied, surpressing his slight jealousy at his former student.

"I hope you don't feel intimidated, Dilaere. House Aleanani will always take the best it can manage." Bhin'ree warned with a leer.

"Sab'vrae still has ten years in Barra Velve to survive… if he does. He came in the top ten, not the top slot." Dilaere reminded, mostly to mask his own slight worries.

"With his bloodline and your training, he will." Bhin'ree assured, stepping down from her spider sculpted throne. She slowly descended upon Dilaere, pushing his chin up with her slender fingers, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Now that my son's abilities have been thoroughly discussed, I have other… business propositions to make, patron." Dilaere broke into an impish grin, especially when he noted her scarce coverings.

"I am your most humble and obedient servant, dread mistress."


	6. Chapter 5

****

Chapter 5

Sab'vrae sighed, blowing his long pale bangs out of his eyes. He slouched back in his seat, losing interest in the priestess' lecture quickly. A fairly unreligious elf, Sab'vrae found his daily lessons in Lloth's dogma quite sleep-inducing. Wise enough to know better, he prevented himself from actually drifting off into sleep during classes. The consequences would be dire. He kept enough of a convincing farce to show faint interest in his teachings and to pass any future tests inflicted upon him, but barely retained any of the information outside of class. Lloth's chaotic and evil edicts didn't arouse his feeling much one way or the other, merely brought about indifference, much like most drow life gave him.

Much more appealing to him, however, were his lessons on his people's history, and languages. Barra Velve taught all its pupils about The Descent, when the evil Ilythiiri elves were banished from the surface, along with their goddess, Lloth, becoming drow. After their descent into the Underdark, the drow fought among themselves for survival. Only the most ambitious, resourceful individuals lived through it. During the drow wars, the great dwarven city Bhaerynden collapsed under the dark elves' powerful magical attacks. The Underdark cavern there, open now to the surface skies, became known as the Great Rift.

After the Great Rift's formation, the surviving drow fled deeper into the Underdark's depths, forming their own cities. Ched Nasad herself was founded by House Nasandra thousands of years past -- -3843 DR-- after a disagreement with ancient Menzoberranzan, though at present, relationships between the two cities remained relatively friendly.

Though the straight facts remained true to history, the drow teachers tainted much of its perception. They preached to their pupils of the "evil" surface cousins, the elves, of their treachery and blaming them for their downfall. By what they taught of the battle, Sab'vrae figured the fault was truly Lloth's, though he took care to quickly wash the thought from his mind. After all, Dilaere did warn him that one would never know if and when they matrons spied on activities.

Barra Velve itself didn't teach foreign languages; however, Sab'vrae's house hired private tutors to teach him Elven, Orcish and Common. Knowing the enemy's language always proved a useful tactic and private tutors in extra courses wasn't an uncommon occurrence at the fighter's academy.

Much to his tutors' delight (and perhaps even slight envy), the young Aleanani noble had a knack for languages as he did for fighting. He tackled the three foreign languages with little difficulties, and after a few years of lessons, became quite fluent.

"If his fighting record keeps up, he will be a most beneficial asset in a surface raid," Bhin'ree commented often during Dilaere's reports on her son's progress. Once, she even mused, "Perhaps Nath'olin's loins were indeed worthy of siring more nobles." Dilaere's alarmed reaction merely amused her.

Sab'vrae concentrated most of his waking hours to combat, fine-tuning his already developed skills in and out of battle training. At the end of each year, he managed to keep himself in the top ten winners, beginning to hold a spot in the top five in later school years.

Alton'rak did attempt his revenge their second year at the academy. Once more, he quickly found himself face down in the dirt, humiliated by the lower noble. And the next year, and the years following that. Even in training, the Aleanani noble managed to defeat him in sparring, always with ease. Rather than acknowledge his own lack of skills, the Noquar thirdboy seemed convinced Sab'vrae resorted to tricks. In drow society, any path to victory was the correct one -- all drow children were encouraged to take advantage of others when the opportunity presented itself -- yet, this meant little to Alton'rak when the tricks played against him, even nonexistent ones.

What stirred Alton'rak's hatred more than anything was Sab'vrae's indifference to the entire ordeal. He never taunted or reveled in his victories over the thirdboy, merely made blunt statements at the Noquar's glaring flaws. His nonchalance about the dogma offended the religious Alton'rak, who often pondered why the Spider Queen allowed the blasphemous youth to live and succeed.

The higher noble plotted long at nights in his bunk, shared with his hated rival. Over and over in his mind he thought out techniques and tricks to befuddle his opponent, but always the younger drow outsmarted him. Arrogance and pride, common and revered drow traits, ran thick in Alton'rak. Sab'vrae's constant, apathetic stabs to his egoism enraged the self-absorbed dark elf to a near breaking point. When their ninth year in Barra Velve passed, Alton'rak once against lost his annual melee battle with Sab'vrae.

Even more aggravating to the festering wound in his pride, Sab'vrae pulled off second in their class that year for the third year in a row. Only Dindorl, a bulky giant of a drow, managed to defeat the Aleanani noble each year, and often more by luck than skill.

Fingering his keen dagger one night, Alton'rak slowly smiled. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? When dealing with dangerous enemies, oftentimes, a dagger in the dark proved much more effective than hand-to-hand combat. Already, in their tenth year alone, five students befell horrible "accidents" in their sleep after long term rivalries. Why wait until tomorrow's final melee test to remove Sab'vrae from his worries, or, more likely, risk more humiliation?

Slowing his breathing down in an attempt to calm his excitement, Alton'rak slowly peered about the room. All fifty of the barracks' occupants breathed softly in the depths of reverie, an elven trance state of reviewing memories. Very few drow truly slept. Of course, the Noquar noble doubted every single one rested, but as long as Sab'vrae drifted, the rest didn't matter. He slipped silently from his bed, creeping up through the room, towards his hated enemy.

Much to his surprise, Alton'rak noted by Sab'vrae's breathing and movements that the drow slept like the lesser races did. He snorted lowly in disgust. Unsheathing his blade, Alton'rak raised his hand high over Sab'vrae's body, searching for the perfect spot. He smirked slightly, spotting the dark red heat of the beating heart. His hand flew downwards, aimed directly at the vital muscle.

His own heart nearly stopped when he felt a strong hand grip his wrist, stopping him in mid-thrust. Sab'vrae's eyes snapped open, light blue eyes aglow with the red heat of infrared vision. Leaving Alton'rak no time to react, Sab'vrae twisted the would-be assassin's arm back, forcing him to drop the dagger. He kicked his attacker away, sending Alton'rak flipping over with a muffled, "Oof!"

Snatching the dagger from the air in his still glove-clad hand and leaping from his bed in one fluid, near silent motion, Sab'vrae descended upon his long term rival. He drove the weapon deep into the thirdboy's throat. Alton'rak clawed helplessly at the blade, gurgling at the sudden rush of blood and lack of air. Sab'vrae placed his foot on Alton'rak's chest, using his weight to push down the blade further, finally impaling the dagger through the black flesh entirely.

"Obviously you learned nothing about judging your adversary in our many battles, Noquar's thirdboy," Sab'vrae hissed lowly to avoid alerting the other students, "I was perfectly fine with your petty hatred if you so insisted keeping a grudge, but that doesn't mean I went about unprepared. If you'd simply accepted your rank in the school, you could have lived to see graduation." He yanked the bloody dagger free with amazingly little noise.

Alton'rak let out one last bubbling gasp before his vision blurred, fading into black.

---------

"Alton'rak Noquar is dead." Dilaere began his daily discussions with his mistress using the important tidbit of recent news.

"What? The third house's thirdboy?" Bhin'ree asked in somewhat mild surprise, "How?"

"By the looks of it, he botched an assassination attempt of a fellow student and it completely backfired on him." Her patron explained. Bhin'ree sighed, knowing well of Alton'rak's long-term hatred for her son.

"By Sab'vrae's blade, I surmise?"

"The students and teachers are baffled. All of the roommates claim none of them heard a peep during the night. Alton'rak was found in his bed, his own dagger impaled through his throat." Dilaere answered with a wide grin. Bhin'ree sat back in her throne, a slow smile creeping up her face.

"Did House Noquar's Matron have any comments about this… mysterious… death?"

"My sources indicate little sympathy for her dead son," the weapon master replied, "Matron Null'driira does have two older sons and three daughters, remember, my mistress. She often balked at her youngest son's incompetence for his lessons and fighting training. I doubt he would have lasted long in his house after graduation."

"Then it seems my son has saved Noquar some trouble." Bhin'ree smiled, pleased.

"Indeed. On an even brighter note, Sab'vrae finally defeated Dindorl in the last melee battle. He's graduating first in his class this year." Dilaere informed with well-contained excitement. Bhin'ree cackled with glee.

"Excellent! With Masantar's already excellent record at Orbb Magthere, and Sab'vrae's outstanding record at Barra Velve, I envision fruitful times in House Aleanani's future, and, hopefully, Lloth's full support." Enrollment at Orbb Magthere lasted much longer than Barra Velve -- most students spent at least five decades in the priestess' training academy -- but the daughters often visited their houses every decade or during times of dire need.

"Yes, I am sure the Spider Queen will reward her diligent servants well." Dilaere agreed.

"When are the graduation ceremonies?" inquired the matron.

"Tomorrow evening. Sab'vrae will return to us afterwards."

"Ensure that our new captain of the guard is welcomed home appropriately."

Dilaere's stomach twisted slightly, both in delight and fear, "Of course, dread mistress."


	7. Chapter 6

****

Chapter 6

Every year the three academies' (Barra Velve, fighter's school, Orbb Magthere, priestess' school, and Faer Qu'ellar, mage's school) oldest students met in a large, shared auditorium for graduation ceremonies. Hundreds of surviving pupils from each academy poured into the multitude of seats. In one section, the female priestesses of Orbb Magthere seated themselves, new wizards of Faer Qu'ellar in another, and the fighters from Barra Velve in another sector. Instructors from Barra Velve and "volunteers" patrolled the entrances, guarding the auditorium from any possible interference.

First in Barra Velve's graduating class, Sab'vrae found himself seated only a few dozen rows behind the front and center of the complex, a high honor for a non-priestess. Only instructors and important visitors (such as Matron Mothers' older daughters of the higher houses) occupied the seats in front of him. Orbb Magthere's lead student would begin the ceremony at the center of the surrounded stage.

Though their history together began with the banishment of the Nasandra family from the elder city, Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan shared much in common in regards to social structure and traditions. Like the larger city, Ched Nasad's graduation ceremony involved evil incantations and bouts of carnal urges among the newly graduating students.

Orbb Magthere's best new high priestess made her way slowly towards the huge, flaming brazier in front of her. The gathered students hushed, transfixed. The female drow stopped, spreading her arms high above her slender, nude ebony body. In a low, haunting voice, she began her incantation, weaving her fingers and arms about the air in ritual gestures. She screamed shrilly, stinging the plethora of sensitive ears about the room. Behind her, three long, thick, rocky curved spikes erupted from the earth, a flaming portal wavering between them. Large, deep crimson red talons escaped from the chaotic portal, digging into the stony ground, heaving the rest of its body through. A balor, a powerful demon from the Abyss, stood before the gaping students, its flaming wings leaving a sinister lighting upon the stage.

Sab'vrae slouched back in his seat, disinterested in the demonic being. He knew well that the new priestess should have no trouble keeping it bound, otherwise she wouldn't have graduated at the top. If problems did occur, the senior priestesses present could banish it back to its own plane. The male drow snorted at the thought. _Let the females take care of everything, just like always._

Long ago he'd grudgingly accepted the fact Ched Nasad was a chaotic, matriarchal society, wrapped around Lloth's little finger. That didn't mean he had to agree or like it. The years in the drow city, especially at Barra Velve, had chipped away at his childish ignorance and happiness, leaving him cynical and apathetic to his surroundings. Unlike most other dark elves, most of which were evil and chaotic, Sab'vrae felt no strong pull towards law or chaos, nor towards evil. Goodness and kindness were foreign ideals to the young drow, so, naturally, he felt no allegiance to good, either.

The Balor released a great roar, bringing Sab'vrae focus back to the stage. Its great skull like head looked at its surroundings, slowly recognizing the reason for its summoning. Much like Sab'vrae, the demon grudgingly accepted its fate for the moment. After all, demons were often called for much more tedious reasons. It did let out an annoyed growl, showing its protests to the interruption of its normal daily routines.

Oblivious to the creature's aggravation, many of the students cheered and howled in excitement, fear, lust and befuddlement flooding through the masses of young drow. Male and female students eyed each other lewdly, and before long, mass mingling among the students commenced. Already scant clothing littered the floor, the drow entangling themselves amongst each other.

Sab'vrae watched the spectacle about him in surprise and even mild disgust. Modesty never held a place in drow vocabulary or social settings, but the amass of lusting, adolescent elven bodies left a slightly bitter taste in the Aleanani noble's mouth. He bit his lip, sinking low into his chair, wrapping his piwafwi tightly around himself, attempting to blend into the scenery as much as possible. The thought of having to please a female drow in such a way sickened him, especially since his only view on females was based on his sister, mother, and Vicala. However, he intended to live, so if he must, he must.

Moments passed, and his classmates seemed to completely disregard him. Sab'vrae breathed a low sigh of relief, then instantly regretted the action. Before he'd completed the movement, he felt slender fingers brush lewdly up his thighs, tantalizingly close to his groin. He raised his gaze to see a young priestess he didn't recognize. Probably a high ranked student, judging by her attire, which she quickly discarded. She flashed a feral grin at the noble boy.

"You're the only male I find worthy of me at the moment," she commented coyly, running her fingers through his silky white locks.

"Are you positive about that?" Sab'vrae retorted. Or at least, he wanted to, but wisely bit his tongue instead. Drow held beauty and perfection in high regard -- any sign of weakness or deformity often meant disgrace or, more likely, death. Sab'vrae never considered himself a handsome drow, though, apparently, from the comments he received from females while on guard patrol at Barra Velve, others believe differently. Now, as the unnamed female hastily removed his bluish chain mail armor, he almost wished he did have an unflattering disfigurement.

Sab'vrae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to block out the scene before him. Determined to survive in the evil, insane drow world, even with his bleak outlook, the middle class noble inhaled deeply, reluctantly accepting his fate. The female removed his leggings slowly, pleased at the view before her. Already removed mentally from the ordeal, Sab'vrae gave no reaction, allowing her to take control. That's what mattered to drow women, anyway. Why avoid the inevitable?

---------

"So, the elderboy finally returns to serve his house." Bhin'ree observed at the entrance of Dilaere and her son into her throne room. Sab'vrae knelt before his mother, still disgusted by his encounter with the young Lloth priestess. Physically, the ordeal was, admittedly, pleasurable, but mentally, the young male wished he could wash the incident from his mind. Memorizing the beautiful female's face in his mind, he already decided to make an effort to avoid her in the future, to deter any possible unwanted encores.

"Did the graduation ceremony go well, Sab'vrae?" the Aleanani matron asked in a sickeningly false doting tone.

"It went… yes, it went well, Matron." Her son hesitated a moment before choosing to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Has Dilaere notified you of your new place in this family, Sab'vrae?" The adolescent elf glanced at his former mentor.

"No, not at present."

"Then he may inform you now." The matron mother nodded to her patron, silently ordering him to explain the situation. Dilaere cleared his throat, surpressing an exasperated sigh.

"Matron Bhin'ree has chosen you, elderboy, to be the new captain of the guard." He finally voiced.

"It is a great honor, dread mistress," Sab'vrae answered to his mother after a moment's reflection. Truthfully, the important rank surprised him little -- noble offspring, especially the elder and more skilled, often took hold of desirable posts once returning to their houses from academy training. However, the promotion didn't pique his excitement or ego, either. He simply accepted the reality of his new responsibilities. Nothing seemed to affect him much one way or the other. Even the affair with the female drow already grew stale in his mind, stored in the unimportant concerns of the past.

Sab'vrae almost hoped his family entered a house war soon. Only the heat of battle seemed to stimulate him much anymore.

Dilaere didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed by the Aleanani male heir's blank expression. Lack of ambition in a drow was a dangerous trait, but hardly his concern if the young male fancied keeping his current station. In fact, he preferred that reality. If Sab'vrae contented himself in the captain's position, Dilaere need not worry about his life and station of weapon master. At least, not from the elderboy himself. Bhin'ree, in truth, decided if Sab'vrae moved forward or not.

He intended to keep himself on her good side as much as possible from the moment onwards, for his own sake.


	8. Chapter 7

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Chapter 7

"Tell me once more: Why am I going on a surface raid?" Sab'vrae, now reaching his fortieth year, questioned Dilaere as the two drow strolled through House Aleanani's front gates. The weapon master sighed, irritated.

"Are you implying you don't wish to go? Most drow would kill their own brother for such a wonderful opportunity to attack our hated surface cousins, especially when assigned squad leader." He pointed out.

"Many drow would kill their own brother if any opportunity arose." Sab'vrae retorted with a roll of his eyes.

"Regardless, you must go. Matron Bhin'ree insists. House Aleanani is already sending twenty-five expendable troops to aid in the venture."

"So, I'm expendable now?" Sab'vrae scowled.

"_All_ males are expendable, remember." Dilaere reminded, though his own voice hinted distaste at the belief. "But, no, that's not why. The matron wants to ensure that the raid is successful, and when House Nasandra requested our participation, Matron Bhin'ree wanted only the best leader to represent us. She felt myself too important to spare at the moment, but your duties can be substituted while you're away, and you'll do a fine job leading the drones."

"I suppose. What other Houses are involved? How big is this expedition going to be?" The elderboy questioned his ex mentor.

"House Nasandra's elderboy, Calril, is leading the entire conquest with one hundred of his house's troops. House Noquar and Houses Zau'mtor are sending fifty drow each. Houses Auvryath, Baen'und, Barri'ervs, and Maem'tor will give about one hundred soldiers and a few mages combined, then a handful of middle and lesser houses will participate with a total of about two hundred and twenty between them. The total expedition, fighters, wizards, and a few priestesses in all will amount to roughly five hundred and fifty drow."

"That's fairly large for a mere raiding party." Sab'vrae observed.

"True, but we plan to attack a fairly large moon elf settlement."

"When do I leave?" the young noble asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow. Pack your things now. The journey to the surface will take at least a week or two both ways."

"Wonderful." Sab'vrae muttered, brushing past Dilaere and towards his own chambers.

---------

"All lesser troops are to defer to the squad leaders and the priestesses," Calril, a drow some few centuries young, stood before his large raiding party on the edges of Ched Nasad's border into the Underdark. Weapon master of his house and nearly peerless in combat skill, Calril stood only five feet from the ground, though his muscles rippled through his skin more than most drow. Unlike most nobles, he kept his light hair short, barely below his chin in unkempt clumps. His plate armor put the other soldiers to shame, and he proudly bore House Nasandra's crest upon his chest plate, his black piwafwi draped dramatically around his broad shoulders.

"There are ten squad leaders and myself," Calril continued, "You can identify them by the banners attached to the backs of their armor. Each squad captain will command a group of fifty soldiers, along with a Lloth priestess. You are to obey these captains with no exception, unless the order is overruled by a priestess or myself." He paced about the area, gesturing with his words to emphasize his meaning.

"You will go to the captain with the glyph matching the symbols on your sashes over your armor. Once everyone is organized, we shall move out." The most powerful elderboy in the city motioned for his subordinates to arrange themselves.

Sab'vrae stood patiently as his assigned troops, half of them from his own house, slowly gathered about him. His appointed priestess slowly approached, and the Aleanani noble tensed, recognizing her as the libidinous priestess from the graduation ceremony. He pushed his helmet lower on his head, in a weak attempt to cover his face. Fortunately, she gave no signs of recognition of him.

Merely, she nodded briefly at the captain with a curt, "I'm Xundra Maeana."

Sab'vrae bowed politely, avoiding eye contact, "And I am--"

"Sab'vrae Aleanani, elderboy of the twenty-first house, I know. Don't waste my time with useless details, male. The only thing that matters is the raid. Sources say you shall make an excellent captain. If you prove otherwise, I may take out my frustrations on you if the expedition runs sour." Xundra snapped snobbishly.

Sab'vrae resisted the strong urge to slice her to ribbons or make a biting retort. Instead, he took a deep breath and hissed, "Of course, mistress," with a low bow. Rage boiled in his veins. Only Masantar managed to anger him so before. He hoped the weeks would pass by quickly, otherwise, Ched Nasad might find itself short one priestess.

---------

All elves had superior sight and vision, but dark elves more so than their surface cousins. Though able to see excellently in the light spectrum, drow excelled more in ultraviolet sight, capable of over ninety feet of heat vision. Their long, elven ears could hear sounds ranging from 1,000 to 30,000 hertz. In addition, a well-trained drow could detect creatures based on echo patterns rebounding off the cavern walls.

This was a handy trait, considering horrid, malignant creatures roamed the Underdark. Monsters long adapted to living in a lightless, damp, dreary world. A group as large as Ched Nasad's raiding party would find little trouble -- most Underdark inhabitants preyed on small groups, or, preferably, lone travelers too foolish to travel with a partner or two.

A few days into the venture, the raiders ran into a rather large cluster of Lurkers, large flying creatures remotely resembling manta rays. They dropped down from the ceiling, attempting to consume a few drow with their own bodies. The dark elves withdrew their weapons, prepared for battle.

Sab'vrae's twin blades slid from their sheathes smoothly, thirsty for Lurker blood. One of the flying monsters swooped low, its belly mouth opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Sab'vrae swung his left arm, digging his father's red glowing blade into the Lurker's flank. The monster let out a loud screech, losing momentum. Taking advantage of its descent, Sab'vrae stepped on its tail, halting its efforts. He impaled his two blades through its back, killing it instantly.

He turned on his heels, slashing his long swords through the fin like wings of another Lurker, sending it crashing to the ground. The noble elf heard a howl behind him and instinctively swung his right hand sword backwards, stabbing it into the stomach of his would-be attacker. The Lurker slide off his blade with a wet "shloop!"

Around him, most of the other soldier fared quite well. Very few matched the Aleanani male heir for his speed and skill, but their sheer numbers easily outdid the assaulting creatures. Calril himself maneuvered his way gracefully through the ranks, his scimitars tearing clean cut lines in the Lurkers. Those that didn't die soon fled in loud, protesting shrieks.

House Nasandra's elderboy nonchalantly sheathed his scimitars, turning to his collection of fighters. "Any injured or dead? If so, leave them. We must continue onwards." After a quick inspection, his men found no one missing or incapacitated, and the hundreds of drow continued on their way.

---------

The next week passed by with no worthwhile events. A few long-term rivals made the typical subtle threats at one another, but knew better than to actually carry any of them out. Slaughtering surface elves held a much higher place in their agenda at the moment.

Late into their twelfth day of travel, Calril halted the force, ordering his vassals to make camp.

"We shall reach the Nether Mountains of the surface within the next day or two." He informed his troops and the priestesses, "We must be prepared to battle our horrid, evil cousins. Tonight, we rest, and, hopefully, by this hour tomorrow, our blades will bite into the light skin of our hated surface relatives!" The drow elves cheered in their agreement, unpacking their supplied and settling themselves down for the evening.

Sab'vrae busied himself pitching his own private tent, a luxury only the captains and priestesses could afford. Quickly and easily fixing the frame base, the noble draped a long sheet of cloth over it. He dragged his pack inside the makeshift shelter, rolling out his sleeping cloths. He settled down under the covers, closing his eyes and drifting off into a light doze.

He woke with a start a mere hour or two later, sensing a slight echo off the cave walls. He carefully scanned his room, hands on his long swords' hilts. His eyes caught no sign of heat, but his ears still sensed a light scraping sound -- outside his tent. Gingerly lifting the flap of his shelter, Sab'vrae scanned the campground. This time his keen hearing noted an odd clicking noise -- then he spotted the large collection of heat -- a Hook Horror.

Hook Horrors were tall, almost birdlike creatures in skeletal structure. Instead of wings, however, they had long, skinny arms that ended in sharp, wicked scythe like blades. They had a natural defense against most physical attacks, considering a hard, thick shell covered most of their bodies. They walked on two legs ending in long, talon like feet.

Silently slipping out of his quarters, the drow crept behind the snooping monster. Hook Horrors caused enough trouble alone -- he only hoped this one ventured out on its own.

Pulling his piwafwi tight around his being, the dark elf swooped around to the front, quickly stabbing upwards. He caught the creature in its one vulnerable spot -- the unprotected flesh under its beaked chin. The Hook Horror gurgled a low screech before slipping from Sab'vrae's blades and falling to the earth with a "thunk!" Sab'vrae crept through the camp, scanning for any other possible threats. Finding none, he sheathed his long swords and returned to his tent, eager to return to his well-earned rest. Whether or not the party learned who slew the Hook Horror in their sleep, he didn't care. Aleanani's elderboy merely wished to sleep without running the risk of an Underdark monster ripping him apart.

---------

Early rising drow stumbled upon the dead Hook Horror with surprise the next morning, but left the corpse in it place after noticing the blade wounds on its throat. Someone chose to play the role of guard last night, but it mattered not who. Packing their tents and other supplies, the raiding party continued on their way. They wove through caves, turned one direction at intersections, and paused only every few hours to regain their energy.

By early evening, Calril dashed ahead of party, scouting the area ahead. He returned shortly after, grinning wickedly.

"The exit to the surface is just ahead," he alerted his large crew. A veteran at surface raids, Nasandra's weapon master knew the path well. "Night's almost completely fallen. Leave your packs here -- bring only your weapons and spell books, if you're a mage. We'll wait until the darkness has completely descended upon the surface, because our vision will be better. Hurry, move!"

His troops complied, rallying to their troop captains and silently marching towards the cave exit. Soon, in small groups of five or so, the drow emerged out into open air, many of them for the first time. Fresh air descended upon the elves, catching many by surprise. Residents of the Middledark -- caverns three to ten miles below the surface, most Ched Nasadrans were well accustomed to stale air, and knew nothing of the pure oxygen available on the surface.

Sab'vrae gaped in awe at the endless ceiling surfacers referred to as the "sky." Fresh air and wind blew through his long hair, sweeping through the lush green grass and trees. Already switched temporarily to the light spectrum, Sab'vrae's eyes gazed into the distant mountains, impressed at the sight. What an odd, strange world so much unlike the one he lived and matured in.

Calril motioned for his captains to lead their troops through the woods with him. The eleven groups spread out though the forest, slowly creeping past the trees, leaves, and dead twigs. In the horizon, they quickly approached a large settlement. The dark elves hid themselves amongst the foliage and rocks, spying on the small elven city.

Sab'vrae watched the surfacers with a curious interest. So strange, these moon elves were pale with slightly bluish skin, much unlike his ebony tone. Atop their heads, some bore white or silvery hair similar to his, yet others had sapphire blue, black, and blonde hair. Intrigued by this odd sight, the elderboy almost missed Calril's signal to attack.

Sab'vrae removed his blades, motioning his squad onward. They flew through the night, and soon, the drow party fell upon the elven city before the moon elves realized what happened. At the sight of drow elves, the citizens screamed and scrambled in all directions, man, woman and child alike. Many shouted for guards and other fighting forces. The drow raiders quickly cut these verbal elves down.

Weaving through the panicking crowd, Sab'vrae scanned through the dark for any worthy opponents. He held no intentions of attacking civilians, but not for any moral reasons -- after all, he grew up in an amoral society. He simply did now wish to waste his time and effort mowing down helpless civilians who would provide him little or no challenge. When he fought, the Aleanani elderboy fought for excitement in the heat of battle. Simple slaughter at the flick of a wrist with no danger did little to sate that excitement.

Finally, elven reinforcements arrived, mainly comprised of the city guards. Sab'vrae awaited the oncoming horde, gracefully dodging their sluggish blows. His body and blades twirled, the enchanted metal easily cutting through armor and penetrating the flesh. Three elven soldiers spewed blood and sank to the ground, gurgling.

An enraged warrior charged at Sab'vrae head on, a great sword grasped tightly in both hands. He raised the huge sword to strike, only to drop it when Sab'vrae's simple long sword skewered his stomach. Blood leaked from the unfortunate moon elf's lips, and he slumped over, still stuck to the blade. Sab'vrae grunted, pushing his foot up against the body to yank his weapon free. He entered back into the fray, avoiding civilians and instead quickly diminishing the enemy's militia.

His fighting companions were not so picky with their choices, so to speak. Drow warriors gleefully cut into young childrens' backs as they attempted to flee from the scene; dark elf wizards lit homes ablaze with a few flexes of their fingers; and the elven priestesses called forth a Balor to trample, maim, and terrorize.

Soon elven bodies, both moon and dark elf, but mostly moon elf, littered the earth, crimson blood seeping into the dirt. Homes burned down to the ground, lighting up the ruins of the small city for all to see and fear. Once the last foe fell to the ground, spewing red liquid, the drow let out cheers and victory shouts, quickly retreating to the caves before the sun returned to the skies.

Sab'vrae found twenty of his squad intact, but saw no sign of Xundra. Secretly hoping a moon elf had managed to pierce her wretched heart, the elderboy led his men back into the earth's depths with the rest of the party. He decided then that surface raids were enjoyable, but most of his skill was wasted due to the lack of enemy troops. Still, it served better than his typical guard duty.

He sighed, realizing the monotonous duties that awaited him at home.


	9. Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

Subterranean lizards were normally viscous creatures, attacking any foolish enough to stumble upon them in the Underdark. However, for eons, drow had bred and domesticated the creatures, using them in place of horses and cattle as beasts of burden and mounts. The advantage of the lizards was their mobility in the often cramped caverns of the Underdark, their ability to see in the dark, and their extra nasty bite directed towards enemies in battle.

Much of their mobility in the underground world owed to their suction cup like talons, which allowed the lizards to easily scale walls and ceilings made of smooth and rugged rock. They ran as swiftly as any surface war horse, and were the favored mount choice for drow calvary.

Sab'vrae sat atop one such beast, strapped securely to its back so he could completely patrol the Aleanani complex, floors, walls, and ceilings in all. He ushered his lizard forward, scanning the streets outside the house's protective walls. Now adorned in elaborate drow armor, the dark elf was a fiercesome sight to behold, with or without his charger.

His chest plate actually left half of his right pectoral naked, partly for easier mobility, and partly for an appealing look to any potential mates. His right arm was also bare until his lower forearm, which was protected by a secure metal gauntlet. A spiked shoulder pad connected to his chest plate on his left side, scale mail running down his left arm. His other forearm, too, was covered in a spiked, intimidating gauntlet. A thick rothe leather belt secured his long swords at his sides, more than his flexible plate mail leggings. Inside its buckle, it bore the Aleanani's long legged spider symbol.

Atop his head he wore an open-faced helmet, adorned with a brush of dyed rothe hair at the peak. His entire metal ensemble shone slight hues of purple and blue, House Aleanani's colors. Over his shoulders, away from the pad's spikes, rested his dark piwafwi, fastened firmly in place by his personal house insignia, a brooch with secret enchantments. The magical abilities were minor, but could serve well in a sticky situation. Only members of the house knew the details of their own insignia's abilities.

Sab'vrae sighed, tugging on his steed's reigns. The subterranean lizard gave a grunt and continued on its way, scaling the crags of the cavern wall. The noble finished his patrol with his usual nonchalance and boredom. On a day to day basis, the time passed antagonizingly slow, but on a yearly scale, it seemed to dash by. Already, Sab'vrae approached his forty-seventh year, nearly three decades after his graduation from Barra Velve. Overall, his life remained uneventful. Ten years ago, a lesser house attempted to annihilate House Aleanani in an effort to move up the ranks of power. They failed miserably, outnumbered and outwitted. Both Dilaere and Sab'vrae led their soldiers tactfully, gaining their matron's staunch favor… for the time being.

Masantar still had a decade or so left in Orbb Magthere. Yet she visited often, a luxury available to older students and noble heirs, especially firstborn females. In Sab'vrae's opinion, his sister grew more wicked and twisted with each passing year, if such was possible. She gloated her station as a student of Lloth over the elderboy, knowing full well that she ranked higher as a pupil than he as a captain simply due to a fault of gender. Normally, Sab'vrae grimly accepted his subservient role in society, but Masantar always seemed to bring out his anger at their city's sexist culture.

And each time she managed to awaken this well deserved rage, Masantar gleefully punished her brother in beatings for his "insolence." Sab'vrae found himself secretly hoping a summoned balor would devour her one day. It came as no wonder why drow family ties ran quite thin.

Despite his desirable traits and skills, Sab'vrae kept to his vows and managed to remain chaste over the decades by keeping as low a profile as possible. He rarely left the complex outside of patrol unless under matron's orders. When venturing the streets, he kept his piwafwi's hood pulled far over his face. Ched Nasad was a center for secret plots and treachery, so most ignored his hidden features. Those who took notice also identified his house insignia on his brooch and wisely left him be.

Though his skills long ago surpassed Dilaere's, the elder drow remained patron and weapon master by careful motives. Sab'vrae also subtly hinted, quite often, to his mother of his desire to remain captain of the house guard. He may have made a better weapon master than Dilaere, but he could not replace the drow as a patron. Besides, the Aleanani matron showed no interest in any currently available males as patrons. Apparently, Dilaere kept Bhin'ree quite pleased in the bed chambers, a wise move on his behalf.

Finishing his patrol for the evening, Sab'vrae urged his lizard back down to the cavern floor, riding it into the stables, where he dismounted and handed the reigns over to a stable attendant. Removing his helmet and tossing his hair about to remove stray ones, the elderboy entered his family's decent sized mansion, carved out of the cavern stone.

Soon after entering, one of his guards dashed over to him, bowing quickly.

"Master, Matron Bhin'ree requests your presence in her throne chamber." He babbled, hand gripped tightly on his spear. Sab'vrae nodded his appreciativeness.

"Thank you. You can now take over my post, sergeant." The commoner nodded quickly, bustling out the doors. Sab'vrae continued on his way, soon walking under a small opening in the ceiling. He levitated up into the next floor; many noble complexes avoided stairs to the main rooms to thwart invading enemies. Drow armies often comprised of "fodder" (kobolds, goblins, and lesser races), and commoner drow incapable of innate spell abilities.

A few servants and soldiers nodded their heads in acknowledgement of the elderboy, ensuring they kept out of his way. Sab'vrae wasn't known for a violent temper, but most commoner drow didn't take their chances with any noble, when possible.

A guard announced Sab'vrae's arrival, opening the large door to allow the young adult inside. Bhin'ree waited as her son knelt in front of her before speaking.

"House Tor'ana has fallen out of favor with the Spider Queen," she stated with barely contained calm. House Tor'ana held twentieth rank in the city, one above House Aleanani. Losing favor of Lloth meant loss in power, an ample time to remove the line from Ched Nasad and acquire more power. "And recently, three of Matron Irr'bryn's children have been assassinated, two of them her only daughters. Currently, she has no female heirs, and many of her soldiers abandoned the house to serve those with a more certain future."

"I suppose you wish to…eliminate them, then?" Sab'vrae quipped.

"Soon, but not yet. Even with their power weakened and their forces lowered, currently we stand on too even a ground with them. I want you to recruit as many soldiers as possible, and see if there are any decent fighting able slaves on the market." Bhin'ree ordered. Sab'vrae nodded, his head dipping lower.

"Of course, dread mistress."

"If there are any mercenaries from other cities, take them into account as well. I've heard rumor of a notable female legionnaire that goes by Erel'kiira, and her fighting manservant, Rhyl'dorl, in Ched Nasad's merchant district, seeking work. Find and hire them, if possible. Upon returning, bring them to me, if you are successful in hiring them. I wish to assign them… special posts. The others can get their orders from a lower officer."

"Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl, bring them to you. I shall remember that on my task, mistress. Anything else you wish of me?" her son queried.

"Meet with Teb'gloth before you leave. I've ordered him to supply you with what should be enough of our funds to support this excursion. That is all. You may leave now."

Knowing well not to delay, Sab'vrae rose to his feet, bowing briefly once more, and turned on his heel, striding out the throne room's door.


	10. Chapter 9

****

Chapter 9

Dressed elegantly, yet modestly enough to walk about relatively unnoticed, Sab'vrae strode down Ched Nasad's streets. He wore an expensive, yet simple outfit of lizard leather, protected by a layer of hidden chain mail underneath. He kept his piwafwi draped around his shoulders, the hood pulled up to hide his face. His leather boots scraped soundlessly against the stone ground. He wove his way through the crowds, through the noble district and into the slums.

Passing through the commoner's quarters, he finally entered the market and shops, merchant territory. Aleanani's temporary errand boy scanned the crowds, seeking out any potential soldiers for the upcoming house war. Identifying a slave trader, he approached the greasy drow, inquiring about his stock. The dirty, overweight dark elf grinned, revealing several missing teeth. On hand, he claimed, his service stocked hundreds of the finest kobolds and goblins, and even a few bugbears and orcs.

Haggling briefly over prices, Sab'vrae finally purchased two hundred kobolds, one hundred goblins, a dozen bugbears, and three orcs. He instructed the merchant where to send the slaves, warning the lower drow of the consequences in the event of a failed delivery. The merchant, no fool, nodded quickly in understanding and ordered one of his apprentices to aid him in sending the monsters to House Aleanani.

After watching the two drow lead hundreds of chained slaves towards the noble district, Sab'vrae continued on his task, scouting for mercenaries. He questioned a few locals about Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl, foreign drow mercenaries. Most dark elves, commoners, really, stared blankly at him in response. The noble drow sighed in frustration, ready to abandon his quest for the apparently renowned legionnaires.

"So, you seek the drow mercenary Erel'kiira and her companion, is that true?" A heavily accented voice questioned behind him. Sab'vrae turned to see an somewhat tall female drow with unusually curly hair, followed closely by a relatively tall male.

She held herself with confidence, dressed much differently than most women he knew. Obviously a warrior, not a priestess, she wore clothes depicting such. On her torso she wore a simple white long sleeve shirt with an unbuttoned collar. Over the shirt was an open red vest. Sab'vrae figured she wore thin armor underneath. Brown trousers covered her long legs, ending at midway on her shins, where her leather boots began. A thick belt held her pants up and bore two sword filled scabbards, one on each side. Somewhat attractive, her amber almond eyes scanned the streets in caution. The only makeup upon her face was a very subtle purple hue, complimenting her dark skin quite well.

Her companion stood a good head taller than the female, well over a foot above most male drow. He kept his white hair short and spiked up by some substance. His frame was slightly bulkier than most elves', more like the body of a human male. Though still long and pointed, the male's ears fell shorter than most drow's. The elf's chin looked much more square than normal, and his eyebrows were thick above his yellowish eyes. By dark elf standards, he wasn't very attractive, but Sab'vrae sensed an unusual handsome quality about him.

"If so, then search no further. I am her, and this is Rhyl'dorl." She motioned towards the vertically inclined dark elf, who simply grunted in response.

"Ah, good." Sab'vrae sighed, relieved he wouldn't have to return to his mother in even mild failure, "my matron needs spare soldiers, and she specifically requested your services, if possible."

"How long does she intend to employ us?"

"I am not sure, but probably for at least a month or two." Sab'vrae answered.

"Our ware don't come cheaply, but, if you can pay our price, we will gladly serve your house." Erel'kiira promised.

"How high is this service fee?" the elderboy questioned. Erel'kiira named a price and Sab'vrae sighed, shaking his head, "I don't have the funds to pay you that amount, at least, not at the moment."

Erel'kiira pondered to herself for a few moments, scrutinizing Sab'vrae closely. "A compromise, then. We'll lower our prices by half if you agree to one condition."

"And what is that?" Erel'kiira smirked.

"When the time comes, you must respond to and obey a request I shall give later."

Sab'vrae frowned, "You may be a female, but you are still a foreigner in our city. I don't need to take orders from you." Erel'kiira shrugged.

"Very well; then you must seek mercenaries elsewhere." She turned to leave when Sab'vrae reconsidered.

"Wait! I…" he sighed, deciding he'd rather agree to her terms than face his mother's wrath, "… I accept." Erel'kiira grinned widely as Sab'vrae tossed her a bag of coins.

"Excellent! Lead us on to your house… master."

---------

Marching through the gates of his family's estate, Sab'vrae led the small band of mercenaries into the building. After Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl, the elderboy managed to recruit a few dozen more minor fighters, most of them drow, but a few were duergar, gray evil cousins of surface dwarves. Drow and duergar hated each other, but often kept trading compacts and paper-thin alliances to fend off mutual enemies.

Reaching the hole leading to the upper levels, Sab'vrae halted. He turned to the mercenaries, motioning them back. "You stay here. I will send an officer soon to give you orders." He turned to the traveling duo, "Except you two -- can you levitate?" Erel'kiira snorted.

"What do you take us for? Commoners?"

"Very well then. Follow me." Sab'vrae called forth his natural abilities, easily rising above the ground and into the floor above, closely followed by Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl. Entering the long hallway, Aleanani's elderboy silently led the two mercenaries down the way to his mother's throne room. The guards recognized their elderboy when Sab'vrae removed his hood, and quickly let the trio pass.

"Matron, I have hired small hordes of slaves and mercenaries, and here, I bring you Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl." Sab'vrae announced, entering the center of the room and bowing at his waist. The two soldiers followed suit, but were careful to bow even lower. Matron Bhin'ree stroked her chin in obvious interest.

"Well done, Sab'vrae." Her son rose to leave, but she held up a hand to halt him, "No, stay, captain. I need to here as well, because you three will be working together." Her son blinked in surprise, but slowly walked back, awaiting her orders. For the moment, Bhin'ree directly addressed the two legionnaires.

"Erel'kiira and the male… what was your name? Oh yes, Rhyl'dorl. You two will assist my son in infiltrating the Tor'ana stronghold. He will oversee a small band of my best assassins, and you two will be his seconds in command."

"You would trust outsiders with such an important task?" Erel'kiira asked.

"For the money you'll be paid, and from the reputation that precedes you from Menzoberranzan, Yathchol, and Eryndlyn. I trust you can be up to the task. And, if not… you are quite expendable, which is why I'm not risking anyone too important in this mission."

"But aren't you sending your own elderboy on this mission?" the female mercenary questioned. Sab'vrae said nothing, knowing full well he'd only cause trouble.

"He is still a male." Bhin'ree retorted, stating what seemed to be the obvious, "but… knowing my son, I'm not too concerned with his well being. He can handle himself, so I don't think he's truly jeopardizing himself." Stunned at the compliment, Sab'vrae rubbed his neck. In his few years of life, he'd served his house well and often received compliments on his skill from the matron, but never in front of visitors, especially not strangers.

"Besides, if he does muddle up and die, I'm still young. I can sire other children." Sab'vrae sighed lowly. No surprise there.

"I see. How large will our force be?" Erel'kiira inquired the matron.

"No more than a dozen drow, aside from yourselves. You must use as much stealth as possible -- your goal is to locate Matron Irr'bryn and any of her remaining sons, other relatives, and priestesses. Then, you must eliminate them. Without the heads of the house, the rest will fall easily to our forces. They'll be expecting a large attack from the main entrance and some from above, but not a infiltration force coming from inside immediately."

"Perhaps they should." Sab'vrae stated simply, to which Matron Bhin'ree laughed.

"If they weren't fools, yes." She chuckled, missing Sab'vrae's meaning: drow never stab from the front, but from the back. Family, friend, and foe alike.

---------

"Are you sure this is wise, Erel'kiira?" Rhyl'dorl finally voiced his worries once Erel'kiira and himself were sent to their private quarters inside the stronghold. His companion laid on her bed, looking up at the ceiling.

"What? About the mission? We've faced far more dangerous tasks, Rhyl'dorl." The female assured.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it! Are you sure this… this… Sab'vrae elderboy is a sure thing? He could be just like the others -- a lost cause."

"You place such little faith in drow, despite the fact you are one." Erel'kiira retorted with a smirk.

"I do so with good reason." Rhyl'dorl argued.

"This is true," she admitted, "But his _is_ different than others. He doesn't have the same arrogant and sadistic aura most nobles have."

"That doesn't mean he isn't. I just don't… want to risk getting caught, especially not in a place like Ched Nasad."

"We've succeeded in many cities just as bad as this one," his partner reminded him, "And already from my observations, this Aleanani elderboy holds more potential than any of his peers. We've been doing this for decades, my friend. We can do it again." Erel'kiira declared with confidence.

"I hope you're right…" her pessimistic comrade muttered.


	11. Chapter 10

****

Chapter 10

Sab'vrae paced about his quarters, unable to relax enough to go into reverie or even sleep. After a few weeks of organizing, Matron Bhin'ree deemed the day the perfect opportunity to decimate House Tor'ana. By midnight, Aleanani's forces would encircle the complex and attack. An hour before that, Sab'vrae and his hand picked fleet would begin their infiltration of the stronghold. Nervous, but not out of fear, Aleanani's elderboy found himself restless. This would be the most action he'd seen since the surface raid seven years ago. A near decade of relative peace drove his warrior's wits to an end. His body and blades itched painfully for battle, and the excitement that came from it.

Despite the considerable danger of his mission, Sab'vrae highly anticipated it, eager for the challenge. Never before had the opportunity presented itself for him to attack Lloth priestesses without penalty. He knew well they would prove fierce foes, and the fact he despised most priestesses he met made the chance all the sweeter. He checked the relative time, then sighed. Still hours before the assault and his part in it. Why did time have to drag by so slowly? He sighed once again.

---------

"Impatient, aren't we?" Erel'kiira asked some hours later with amusement. They still had an hour before their appointed time slot.

"We need to allow time for preparation and travel." Sab'vrae snapped, searching out his troops. "The matron will be displeased if we are late for our part."

"And what if we are early?" Erel'kiira questioned.

"We won't be early. We'll be on time." Her commander promised.

True to his promise, the band of fifteen dark elves slipped past Tor'ana's front guards a half hour later. Before leaving, House Aleanani's priestesses had given the band a few enchantments to shield them temporarily from enemy detection. The wards would end soon, and Sab'vrae singled for his team to ready their hand crossbows.

Most drow on missions carried small, hand sized, trigger powered crossbows that shot darts of fatal poison or sleeping drugs. The Aleanani troop loaded their crossbows with sleeping darts, waiting for more orders from their captain. Sab'vrae readied his own and peeked around a corner. He spotted a mounted guard slowly pace his way towards the group. Skillfully, the elderboy aimed his crossbow and quickly shot two bolts. Each hit its target on the victims' necks. The drow patrol and his mount slumped over, instantly asleep.

The troop silently slipped by, a soldier quickly stabbing the drow and lizard through the heart to completely silence them. Looping around towards the back of House Tor'ana, Sab'vrae's squad drugged and killed all who crossed their path.

Sab'vrae scanned the Tor'ana building for an entrance. Spotting a window a few stories up, he signaled his comrades to levitate. Matron Bhin'ree made sure to enlist drow with at least basic spell casting abilities and could communicate in the elaborate Drow Sign Language. The system of hand signals came in handy when on stealth missions.

The group levitated up to the window. Rhyl'dorl pushed past the others and came up to the glass. He reached into his robes and retrieved a small cutter, pressing it into the pane. Quietly and efficiently, he cut out a large, body-sized hole into the window. Sliding the glass out, he levitated to the ground, placing the glass against the stone wall of the house.

By the time he returned, half the group had already slipped into the building. Once everyone entered, Sab'vrae searched the immediate area, finding it safe for the moment.

__

We'll split up into three groups of five. He said in drow sign language, _One group with me, one with Erel'kiira, and one with Rhyl'dorl leading. Each group will head down a corridor and kill any Tor'ana they encounter. Remember, stealth is the most important factor at the moment. Try not to reveal yourselves until the remainder of our forces arrive. That leaves us about thirty minutes or so to remain in the shadows. Move out._

Quickly, the drow assembled into three groups and split up. Sab'vrae's team snuck down the largest corridor, clinging to the walls and levitating above the heads of any they encountered. Their enchantments still remained, allowing them to walk by without their heat source being detected by their opponents. Still, the spells would wear off before the rest of the Aleanani forces arrived, so Sab'vrae made haste towards what he hoped were Matron Irr'bryn 's throne room or personal quarters.

---------

Matron Irr'bryn paced about her throne room in frustration. Ever since she failed to capture that blasphemous brother of hers, she was unable to use her clerical abilities. Even her own snake whip turned its many heads against her, a sure sign of Lloth's disfavor. She rubbed her temples. _Damned brother of mine and his foolish following of that false god, Vhaeraun_. Vhaeraun was the son of Lloth and the drow god of thieves, deceit, and male dark elves. His dogma preached that both genders were equal, and he encouraged an eventual return to the surface to unite all elves and overthrow the other races. Much of his lessons were blasphemy in the Lloth church, especially the gender issue.

Apparently, her brother, Omarantar, House Tor'ana's top assassin, had followed The Masked Lord for centuries, but managed to flee the city shortly after being discovered. For this insolence, the entire house paid dearly. Each day the matron lost slaves and soldiers due to a lack of fear and faith, fleeing from the doomed noble family. She already knew of many enemies who would love to see her house crumble, but, unfortunately, she was unable to determine whom she should fear the most and when they would strike. Irr'bryn was unusually unprepared for anything, and she hated it.

Tor'ana's matron jumped with a start when she heard her door slam open. Her sister, Elv'une, dashed inside, panting.

"How dare you barge in on me without authorization!" the matron snarled.

"M-my, m-m-y ap-p-polgies, matron m-m-mother," Elv'une gasped, "B-but there… are… in-" She coughed and gurgled, blood leaking through her lips. She slumped to the ground, red liquid leaking out underneath her body.

"Elv'une!"

"She can't hear you anymore." Sab'vrae threw out his piwafwi, the cloak swishing and dropping down his shoulders, leaving his front exposed. Finally, his enchantments had worn off, revealing his body heat to the matron mother.

"Who--?" Matron Irr'bryn's eyes widened in alarm. "Matron Bhin'ree's brat boy? Sab'vrae? Your house is attacking?"

"Actually, they're not quite here yet, but, rest assured, this is the end of your family's reign." Sab'vrae stepped forward, blades withdrawn. Tor'ana's matron backed away, scowling.

"You'll regret your insolence, male!" she snarled, moving her hands about to form a spell. She recited an incantation, but nothing happened, Silently, she cursed herself. Only trained in clerical abilities, she could only cast spells bestowed upon her by Lloth. Her goddess had truly abandoned her.

"Too bad your spells rely on someone else, isn't it?" Sab'vrae taunted, charging forward, "Me, I rely on only myself. That's why I'll live on." Matron Irr'bryn screamed, pulling out her mace as a last line of defense.

It did her little good, however. Sab'vrae's blades dodged her bludgeon, biting effortlessly into her flesh, cutting through her arms and into her heart.

"Be glad I got to you before my mother did." Sab'vrae hissed, "I don't torture my fallen enemies." Matron Irr'bryn gagged, tasting her blood leaking into her mouth before her vision quickly faded.

Sab'vrae withdrew his blades just in time to hear loud explosions outside. He ran to the window and smiled. "Looks like Mother's arrived." He turned and ran out of the throne room, his cape billowing out behind him.

---------

House Tor'ana boasted many skilled fighters and mages of considerable power, but in their recent decline, they were no match for House Aleanani's sheer numbers. Legions of kobolds, goblins, and orcs fell upon the Tor'ana defenders, and after they were cut down, troops of drow fighters and mages soon followed to pick off the survivors.

Erel'kiira led her band through the house, covering the mid levels. They ignored stealth once they heard the sounds of battle outside. It didn't matter much, anyway. Confused and panicked, their adversaries put up little resistance. She led her squad with her two long swords, her fighting style mirroring Sab'vrae's in some ways.

Rhyl'dorl's team entered the lower levels, cutting into the Tor'ana forces from behind. The large drow brandished an equally big great sword, slashing through slaves and soldiers alike. A few sleeping darts penetrated his skin, to which the warrior only laughed. Before leaving, Bhin'ree's stealth squad had taken anti-sleeping and poison potions to last the night.

Sab'vrae reentered the main hallway, finding three of his team still intact. The other two he found on the ground among the many Tor'ana guard corpses.

"Acceptable losses," he decided to his men, "let's keep moving. The matron mother is dead, so the rest should be easy." He dashed down the hallway, his weapons at the ready along with his pumping heart and rushing adrenaline. This was the kind of excitement his soul had longed for the past few years. They stumbled upon a surprised mage, who quickly cast protection spells. Sab'vrae motioned his troops onward, facing off the wizard himself.

"How did you manage to get in here!" the spell caster asked in disbelief, his skin turning rough and brown. A barkskin spell. Sab'vrae chuckled. A barkskin spell would do little against the keen edges of a few masterwork drow blades.

"I think your house could use a more elite guard," he answered, barely dodging a fireball. "But it's a little late for that now, isn't it?" He swung his swords forward, his father's slightly curved weapon slicing a clean wound open on the mage's arm. The wizard screeched in alarm and pain, attempting to counter. Sab'vrae's reflexes proved the quicker, removing the drow's head from his shoulders. A spray of warm, wet, thick red blood rained down upon the elderboy, who ignored it as the mage's body fell to the ground. He continued on his way down the corridor, ready to meet his next challenge.

---------

Cleaning out the middle levels, Erel'kiira's team made their way down to the lower levels, soon joining with Rhyl'dorl's remaining band.

"What did I tell you, my friend?" the female warrior smirked, "everything is fine!"

"The battle's not over yet." Rhyl'dorl reminded, deflecting an arrow with surprising speed.

"But the hardest part is over. Let's move on!" The male sighed as his companion charged into the fray.

"Sometimes I wonder why we both aren't dead yet…" he muttered to himself.

Sab'vrae finished off the top floors with one member remaining -- he hoped the other teams fared better than his. Leading his one soldier on, the elderboy captain made his way to the middle floor, only to find it empty.

"Well, it seems these mercenaries can pull off a good job." He observed, finding a stairway leading to the ground level. Before long, he encountered a small group on goblins bearing collars with House Tor'ana's crest. Alarmed, they descended upon the two invading drow, most brandishing sticks, a few of them crude short swords at best. Sab'vrae and his partner easily countered their attacks, soon thinning out the fleet. The few remaining monsters wisely chose to flee. The lower dark elf moved to route them, but Sab'vrae held out his arm to halt him.

"Don't bother. They're no challenge, hardly worth our talents. Perhaps there are some decent foes left. Let's go." Surprised at the order, but smart enough not to disobey, the drow merely nodded and followed his commander down the hallway.

---------

"Use your most destructive spells! Reduce the house to rubble!" Matron Bhin'ree shouted outside the complex. Beside her, Masantar fended off the few foolish enough to attempt an attack on the matron mother.

"Do you think my stupid brother managed to complete his mission?" the daughter asked her mother.

"Your brother is quite capable for a male, Masantar," Bhin'ree reminded her, "I don't doubt his abilities."

"And even if he fails, it is not that great of a loss. We can afford it." Dilaere spoke from Bhin'ree's other side, katana drawn. "We have plenty of capable fighters, and more on the way once they've completed their training."

Masantar simply shrugged, aiming an enchanted web spell at an unfortunate kobold.

---------

"I am never letting you convince me to participate in an inter house war ever again." Rhyl'dorl grumbled, nursing a broken arm.

"Oh, come on! It's not that bad! Your arm will heal soon enough." Erel'kiira insisted, wrapping her head up in bandages. Once word of Matron Irr'bryn's death reached the Tor'ana ranks, the battled ended quickly. All the nobles and relatives of the house were tracked down and slain; most of the commoners swore their allegiance to House Aleanani when faced with death. Those who didn't, died.

"I'm not talking about me! I had to carry you out after that stupid orc bludgeoned you over the head with that club!" the male warrior protested.

"Pssh. I've had worse." She disagreed, despite the tender feeling in the back of her skull.

"You're impossible." He growled.

"I know." She smirked.


	12. Chapter 11

****

Chapter 11

"What are you two still doing here?" Sab'vrae inquired some days later.

"Are you implying you don't like our company?" Erel'kiira asked smugly, crossing her arms.

"I'm implying my mother rarely keeps mercenaries this long." The elderboy grumbled.

"Matron Bhin'ree was quite impressed with _all_ her stealth commanders, Sab'vrae," Erel'kiira reminded, "She's promising Rhyl'dorl and myself wonderful rewards and benefits if we remain with her house for a while longer."

Sab'vrae snorted, "And you trust the word of another drow?"

Erel'kiira smiled grimly, "Not a matron. But it's the best situation we've been in for a long time, so we're going to take advantage of it while we still can."

The elderboy grunted in response, glancing up at the male mercenary. "You don't vocalize much, do you?" This time Rhyl'dorl grunted.

"That's because he's smart… for a male." Erel'kiira laughed, lightly punching Rhyl'dorl in the arm.

Sab'vrae shrugged, making his way to his chambers to practice his swordsmanship skills.

"Oh! And Sab'vrae…" The elderboy halted in his tracks, slowly turning to the female in mild irritation.

"Yes…?" he hissed.

"Don't forget, you owe me a favor when I ask for it." Erel'kiira reminded with a haughty smirk. Sab'vrae clenched his fists, biting his lower lip.

"I know." He growled, turning on his heel and stalking down the hallway.

"I still don't know about him, Erel'kiira." Rhyl'dorl cautioned once the elderboy fell long out of earshot.

"Such the pessimist." Erel'kiira chuckled. "If there's a drow male angry about the gender roles in his society, there's always at least a small glimmer of hope."

"Well, I still don't really think…" Rhyl'dorl sighed.

"You think too much." His companion retorted.

"You saw him fight. He's ruthless in battle." The male mercenary argued.

"Ah, but did you notice he only attacked those with weapons or spell casting abilities that made an offensive move on him first?" Erel'kiira pointed out. The taller drow sighed once again.

"I suppose you have a point, but I still don't like this. It's dangerous."

"Then you shouldn't have joined me in my life's calling, male." Erel'kiira warned, "If you don't like danger, then you're living the wrong life."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah… but we've never dealt with a noble before, especially not an elderboy." Rhyl'dorl rubbed his thick neck.

"I know, you keep making this a point. And I keep reminding you, a challenge is good for us. Now, come on. We have guard duties to tend to." She shoved her giant partner onward.

---------

After the incident in the hallway, Sab'vrae learned that his mother had temporarily promoted the two legionnaires to his sub commanders in patrol. Twirling a dagger between his fingers, he pondered his feelings on the issue. Barely ten weeks into their service, and the duo managed to achieve a rank close to the one he needed ten years in the academy to achieve. He did resent this fact somewhat, but also acknowledged that they had reputation to fare for them, and both seemed a fair amount older than him, though still young. Experience gave them an advantage.

He didn't dislike either of the dark elves, but he didn't trust them much, either. Granted, he didn't trust anyone, especially his own family, but he trusted Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl less than normal. Something about them, especially the female, struck him as odd, even for foreigners. Erel'kiira, while confident, somewhat arrogant, and smug at times, didn't give off the same sense of sadistic egotism every other female he knew did. And Rhyl'dorl kept to himself, at least around the elderboy. True, it might be wise to be silent around other drow, but even the most obedient slaves spoke more than the stoic mercenary.

Aleanani's eldest male heir sighed. He still owed the female a favor, something that bugged him to no extent. She may have been a foreigner, but with her current rank, her gender could play at a disadvantage against him if he chose to disobey her. After nearly five decades of enduring a subservient role in society, Sab'vrae's patience began to slowly wear down. He hated deferring to those he felt he was on an equal or higher level to.

Sab'vrae angrily flicked the dagger across the room, the blade embedding itself into the wooden door frame. He sighed, pushing his pearly bangs back and gripping the strands. He plopped onto his bed, slumping over onto his back. He really needed some rest to relieve his unusual bout of stress. Perhaps the extra help was a blessing, not a curse.

---------

__

Are you calling in that 'favor' today? Rhyl'dorl asked Erel'kiira in drow sign language from his post, utterly bored.

__

Perhaps, if a good opportunity presents itself. She responded in kind.

__

Nothing's happening anyway, why waste time? He questioned.

__

True enough. Tonight's as good as any night. She conceded. For the past two months the female mercenary had held the favor over Sab'vrae's head, constantly reminding him of his debt, but never calling up on it. She wanted to wait for the perfect opening, but Rhyl'dorl's patience had begun to run thin. Finally, they would commence the reason they originally came to Ched Nasad. They had no particular target until they met Sab'vrae, whom Erel'kiira deemed a worthy candidate.

Finishing their patrol, the duo headed back into the Aleanani complex. Their feet plodding softly through the hallways, they soon came upon a set of guards heading out for the new patrol.

"Do you know where the captain is?" Erel'kiira questioned. A few of the common drow shrugged, but one scratched his chin in thought.

"I saw him levitating up to the main floors, probably to his chambers."

"I see." Without any thanks, the female brushed past the guards, followed closely by her friend. Upon reaching the upper floors, the duo walked down the long corridor leading to the elderboy's chambers. Finally reaching his doors, Erel'kiira approached the guards standing on either side of the doors.

"Is Sab'vrae in?" she inquired. The guards exchanged glances.

"Yes… the master is in. Just came a few minutes ago. What is it that you wish?" the left sentry asked slowly.

"I seek audience with the elderboy. Let me through." She commanded. The guards hesitated, then decided it was best not to defy a female, foreigner or not. They opened the doors, allowing the mercenary through.

"Wait here." Erel'kiira instructed Rhyl'dorl, who immediately obeyed and stepped back. The guards closed the doors behind her.

Sab'vrae jumped from his back upon the female's entrance. "What are you doing in here?" he asked angrily. Erel'kiira tsked, shaking her head.

"You shouldn't talk to females like that, male." She reminded, hands on her hips. Sab'vrae growled, clenching his fists.

"What do you want?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I've finally decided to call up on that favor you owe me," Erel'kiira answered coyly, sliding towards the elderboy, who resisted the urge to back away.

"What… kind of favor…?" he asked in skepticism.

"That," she emphasized and paused at the word, "you will have to find out later this evening. Meet me and Rhyl'dorl in the evening guard's barracks. They'll all be on duty, so the room will be empty. Be there three hours from now. Don't be late, and make sure no one knows you're coming." She warned, slinking out of the bedroom.

Sab'vrae eyed her retreating figure suspiciously, sitting himself down on his bed. He sighed in irritation, hoping his excursion would be worth his time.

---------

Hours later, Sab'vrae slipped quietly out of his room, passing his guards unnoticed. His door swung inwards and made no sound, and at its activation, his house insignia created a temporary invisibility spell that shielded him from visual detection, even in the infrared spectrum. Silently he wove through the hallways, breathing lowly. He levitated down to the main foyer entrance, then passed through the right corridor to travel down the stairs leading to the barracks.

Quickly scanning the hallway and finding no one within hearing or seeing range, the elderboy crept into the night guards' barracks. He whispered a command word, and his invisibility spell vanished.

"On time. Good. Looks like you are dependable." Sab'vrae jumped, finally noticing Erel'kiira leaning against a wall. The door closed quietly behind him, Rhyl'dorl stepping in front of it, blocking his exit.

Noticing the noble's unease, Erel'kiira chuckled, "Don't fret, elderboy. We're not going to hurt you, but you might not like what you hear at first, so Rhyl'dorl is just ensuring you don't flee on us before this session is over."

"What do you want from me?" Sab'vrae asked in agitation.

"Relax, there's no need to be terse. Sit down." She motioned to one of the chairs nearby. Slowly, Sab'vrae seated himself, keeping his eyes upon the woman mercenary. Erel'kiira herself paced about the room as she continued to talk.

"Answer me honestly, elderboy -- you won't be punished for your answer, though we will know if you lie," she held up a vial of a truth draft, "If need be, we'll use this. Now: what is your opinion of Ched Nasad's society as a whole?"

Sab'vrae blinked in bemusement. She dragged him out in the night to probe him about his personal beliefs? What was she getting at?

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just answer my questions without using your own." The drow legionnaire retorted. Her detainee sighed.

"You swear I won't suffer for my reply?" he asked.

"I promise on my word as a warrior." She answered without hesitation. Sab'vrae never trusted anyone, and Erel'kiira was no exception. However, if he refused to cooperate, he was sure he'd be punished more than he ever would if he answered with honest feelings.

"Fine. You want to know?" he grumbled, "I tolerate it, I've tolerated it for years, decades. I hate it. I despise Ched Nasad's culture."

"And why is that?" inquired the curvy mercenary.

"I'm sick of being submissive to every damn female I come across simply because I'm male! It's not my fault I was born that way!" Sab'vrae snapped. Instead of taking offense, Erel'kiira nodded, rubbing her chin.

"I see. And, what about your fellow drow themselves? How do you feel about their ways, their attitude towards life?"

"What do you mean?"

"The arrogance. The constant plotting against one another, the assassinating, the tormenting. What's your view on that?" He shrugged.

"Honestly? I really don't care much. Some of the higher nobles irritate me with their overflowing arrogance, and, frankly, all the assassinating is pointless."

"How so?" Erel'kiira probed, leaning her elbows on a table, resting her head in her palms.

"We may be more fertile than our surface cousins," Sab'vrae explained, "but sometimes I wonder how we manage to survive if all we do is kill each other. Perhaps it is no fault of fate we live so deep underground: many of our most dangerous enemies can't easily reach us here. Otherwise, we'd be wiped out long ago. Drow know not the meaning of working together past mutual advantage."

"There is wisdom in your words, elderboy." Erel'kiira agreed, much to his surprise. Before he could ask, she supplied him with another question, "What about the edict of Lloth?"

To this, Sab'vrae paused a long while before answering, "I'm… not the most religious drow you'll meet," he admitted, "I don't see much in trusting a goddess that only aides you when you please her ways, and at the slightest screw-up, or even for no reason at all, she'll turn on you with a vengeance." Why in all the Hells had he just admitted to that! He was as good as dead. He smacked his forehead with a groan.

Erel'kiira laughed, but, oddly, without any maliciousness behind it. That was a sound the elderboy was unaccustomed to. "That's just the kind of answer I was hoping for."

"Wha…What?" Sab'vrae nearly cleared out his ears. Had he heard correctly?

The mercenary woman reached into her vest, slowly extracting a small tome. She handed the book to the bemused noble man, "Take this book and read it in its entirety. Meditate over it. After you have contemplated over what you learn from it, contact me and we'll meet here again. Take your time. I'll know you're not truly ready if you're finished too quickly. I would think this would take at least a week or two."

Sab'vrae held the book in his hands. Unable to read the title in infrared, he furrowed his eyebrows. He'd have to fetch a few candles from his cabinet later and read using the light spectrum. Ink that radiated heat was expensive and rare in the Underdark, so it didn't surprise him much at the normal ink contents of the volume.

"What is this all about? You're not making much sense." He eyed Erel'kiira with much skepticism.

"Read the book first, and try your best to understand it." She simply replied, standing up, "But do not tell anyone, especially the matron mother, of this meeting or the book. And do not let that book leave your person. Should anyone find it on you, the punishment will be severe and painful."

"Are you just plotting my downfall? What did I ever do to you?" Sab'vrae questioned in irritation, rising to his feet. Rhyl'dorl clapped a strong hand on the smaller drow's shoulder, causing the elderboy's knees to buckle.

"No, not at all, Sab'vrae." Erel'kiira stated grimly. "We're trying to help you." She motioned to the door, "You can leave now. Keep the book hidden."

Still confused and suspicious, not to mention lightheaded thanks to the male fighter, Sab'vrae stared blankly at the duo while he exited the room. He slipped the book under his shirt and activated his house insignia's powers once more. Creeping invisibly through the hallways, he made it back to his chambers without any mishaps. He rolled his eyes at his oblivious room guards.

"If they can't notice the door opening, I need new men out there." The noble muttered to himself, latching his door and tossing the book onto his desk. He plopped down on his bed, running a hand through his head. What had he gotten himself into? Perhaps he should just go to his mother, claiming the mercenaries had planted the book in his room. Matron Bhin'ree was not a kind leader nor mother, but she knew her son well enough to take his side over such an issue.

Sab'vrae shook his head. He probably should do as such, but something inside him urged him not to. That same feeling made his eyes drift back towards the book with insatiable curiosity. Unable to resist its call anymore, the Aleanani male rose from his bed and ventured to his cabinet. Rummaging around, he soon found a handful of candles and a stand. He placed the stand on his desk and one candle into it.

Muttering a simple incantation, a small burst of flame leapt from the drow's fingers and onto the wick. Grinning, Sab'vrae congratulated himself on dabbling a little in sorcery while studying at Barra Velve. Shifting his eyes into the light spectrum, he sat down, allowing a few minutes to let his sight to adjust. The dim candle light barely lit up the center of his desk, but left plenty of light for reading. Pulling the book towards him, Sab'vrae scanned the cover.

The cover read, _I' Nevae Nominwenea ent Liy,_ or "The Dark Maiden's Wisdom and Love." Sab'vrae blinked. The title was in eleven, a language he knew well, save for the last word, a term he didn't recognize. And who was this "Dark Maiden"? Perhaps, no, certainly the book would elaborate. Slowly pulling back the cover, Sab'vrae began reading the first page.

---------

"Once more I ask: is this wise?" Rhyl'dorl hissed lowly as the duo made their way back to their quarters.

"You heard his answers. There's definite hope for him." Erel'kiira replied with a shrug.

"But he could've been lying."

"He wasn't."

"How do you know?" the male asked skeptically. His female companion chuckled.

"I have my ways. You know that." She explained, opening the door and stepping inside.

"Fine, I'll give you that," Rhyl'dorl conceded, closing the door behind him, "But what if he turns us in?"

"He won't." She tossed her boots aside.

"You don't know that." He lay his coat on a chair.

"Even if he does, we'll be long gone by the time they try to catch us." Erel'kiira said, pulling off her vest.

"I suppose."

"Really, Rhyl'dorl, sometimes I wonder why you do this," the female mercenary sighed, only half joking as she unbuttoned her shirt, "This pessimistic attitude isn't a quality you want for this kind of life and job."

Rhyl'dorl sat on his bed, yanking off his boots, "I know. I'm sorry, it's just I… I dunno. I don't trust other drow much, and I let that get in the way of our missions too often. I really do hope we get Sab'vrae." He ran a thick finger through his buttons, unclasping them all with a single stroke.

Pulling her trousers down, Erel'kiira glanced up at him, smiling kindly. "Perhaps it's best that you maintain the silent treatment until we can ensure his cooperation. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a sleeping gown, sliding it over her body.

"You're the brains in this team, I'm just the brawn." Rhyl'dorl stated, removing his own pants and entering his bed in his loincloth. Erel'kiira chuckled, pulling her covers back and settling in for the evening.

"I personally thing they're half-and-half on each of us." She muttered, turning over to sleep.


	13. Chapter 12

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Chapter 12

Sab'vrae slowly read through the strange book, fascinated at its words and lessons; it was nothing like anything he'd ever read before. According to the book, The Dark Maiden was a drow goddess known as Eilistraee. It claimed she was the daughter of none other than Lloth and the leader of the elven pantheon, Corellon. The elderboy recognized Corellon as one of the "false surfacer gods" from school, but never heard mention of Eilistraee before. Despite her apparent relation to Lloth, the younger goddess couldn't differ more from her insane and evil mother.

"_Aid the weak, strong, grateful, and churlish alike; be always kind_" one line preached, and another_, "Defend and aid all folk, promoting harmony between races._" Lloth's priestesses always stressed on the superiority of drow over other races, and weakness was thought to be scorned at and punished with death. "_ Strangers are your friends. Repay rudeness with kindness._" Both of these statements started and bemused him, contradicting the very core lessons he matured on. The only edict that made remotely any sense to the drow was, "_Repay violence with swift violence, that the fewest may be hurt, and danger fast removed from the land._" The repaying violence with swift violence came naturally to Sab'vrae in most situations; however, never for protecting others and removing danger, except from himself.

Ironically, the well read and educated noble, was not only bemused by the overall content, but also baffled by much of the vocabulary. "Kind," "harmony," "grateful," "friend," "peace," "forgiveness." Most of the words didn't exist in the drow language, or, at least, not in the connotation they seemed to hold in the book.

His better innate judgement screamed at him to destroy the book, and to wash its ramblings from his mind, but his curious side overran it. Sab'vrae continued through the pages, determined to make some sense of it.

Just like the Lloth clergy, only women could attain priesthood for Eilistraee, but merely out of tradition, not gender bias. Men could serve their goddess in another way: Dark Knights fought for and spread the word of the drow goddess, and most in the position were male. Followers were expected or asked to aid those in need, and to celebrate life, emotion, with song and dance.

Eilistraee's acolytes revered music, dance, and beauty as did their deity. But this beauty spoke of seemed subjective, found in even the subtlest, simplest objects, and not out of vanity for one's looks. Though the Dark Maiden encouraged nonviolence, she did not expect her people to allow others walk all over them. Fighting was accepted in self-defense and in the protecting of others. In fact, much to Sab'vrae's delight, Eilistraee's favored weapons were swords, particularly two long swords.

Priestesses could accept offerings of money with the understanding that the gold would be spent on food, musical instruments, and other tools. Oftentimes, these items were given to others, not themselves. Offerings to the goddess rarely included slaying others -- and in such cases, only if the creature slain was evil and killed in battle, not for the sole purpose of an offering. Converting others and leading them in prayer was in and of itself considered an offering, as was simple food sacrifices.

Knowing quite well what Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl intended to do -- convert him to their faith -- Sab'vrae stopped about halfway through. Oddly, he felt no anger or discomfort at this acknowledgement. He'd already admitted he wasn't the most faithful to Lloth, but that didn't mean he'd change religions. Still, this Eilistraee intrigued something within him, and the noble decided once he finished the book, he'd confront Erel'kiira. He wanted to fully understand these strange lessons before he decided anything.

His eyes drifted to the yellowed pages once more, and Aleanani's elderboy continued reading long into the night, wearing his candle down to nothing.

---------

Some ten days passed with little excitement. Already through the book six times over, Sab'vrae unintentionally memorized nearly every passage. At the end of his daily patrol, the elderboy guided his lizard over to Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl. Looking about, he found none in range of hearing. He leaned low in his saddle, motioning for the duo to come closer.

"I've read the strange volume of yours over and over." He whispered lowly, "And yet I still don't understand much of it. You must meet me in the barracks again, tonight."

"Is that an order?" Erel'kiira teased, smirking.

"Don't patronize me." Sab'vrae grumbled.

---------

For the second time, Sab'vrae slipped through the hallways of his house, avoiding detection with relative ease. He slunk inside the guard quarters, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Early tonight, I see." Erel'kiira mused from a seat, her chin resting in her dark hands. "Getting impatient?"

Sab'vrae pulled out a chair next to the female dark elf, dropping the book on the table. "What exactly do half these words mean? I can only make sense of small pieces, not the whole picture."

"Before either of us answers that," Rhyl'dorl spoke, surprising the elderboy as he sat next to him, "You must vow never to speak of us or this meeting to anyone in this city, unless otherwise informed by us."

"I promised once before to keep silent, and I have remained silent. This won't change if you sate my suffering curiosity." Sab'vrae retorted.

"That's good enough, I suppose." Erel'kiira decided. "What do you want to know?"

"Firstly, you're not really mercenaries at all, are you?" The noble asked. His companions chuckled.

"Well, yes and no. We do, in fact, hire ourselves out as warriors, but it's merely to cover up our real positions." Erel'kiira explained.

"A cleric, possibly also a Bladedancer, and Dark Knight of Eilistraee." Sab'vrae finished for her. The two incognito drow blinked in surprise.

"Intuitive, you are." Rhyl'dorl admitted, "And you're right on all three accounts."

"Well, the Bladedancer part makes sense once I noticed her long swords. The book does say the favored weapon of Eilistraee and her clergy is the long sword." Sab'vrae explained, to which Erel'kiira nodded.

"This is true."

"And now that I think about it, your names make some sense now. 'Moon apostle, 'Moon Knight.' The 'moon' is an important element in this religion. Those aren't even your real names, are they?"

"They're our real names now, and that's what matters." Erel'kiira said.

"Fine. Now, what in the hells are these words? I have no inkling of their meaning." He pointed to many of the foreign elven words, such as "kindness."

Rhyl'dorl laughed softly, "Of course you don't know of them. They don't exist in Ched Nasad's society. But that doesn't mean they don't exist outside of it."

"We'll do our best to explain these concepts, Sab'vrae," Erel'kiira said kindly, "But don't be frustrated if it takes a long time for your to grasp them, okay? You have no earlier understanding of them, so they'll take a while to sink in."

"…Very well, go on." Sab'vrae urged.

"Well, we'll start with 'kindness.'" Erel'kiira began slowly, "'Before you ask, benevolence' and 'amity' have the same essential meaning. Basically, it implies treating others with respect -- not out of fear or envy. You treat them with respect and honestly mean it, and you, in turn, get treated with respect. You help others without having to have a reason or alternative reason behind it. You don't intentionally hurt others in any way for any reason." She saw the confusion in the elderboy's eyes, "Don't worry. It's difficult to explain to someone with no grasp of charity, and that's society's fault, not your own. You'll come to know it in time if you try."

"I suppose. Enough of that for now. Have you been to the surface?" Sab'vrae asked, his curiosity mounting.

"Many times, but currently, we make our mission to convert others in the Underdark, to free them from the evil and wretched lives most of them lead." Rhyl'dorl answered. "Even if the people we meet don't end up worshiping Eilistraee, if they learn to care about other beings, and turn away from the typical self-destructive drow ways, we've done our duty. The Dark Maiden helps all those who truly ask, or are in great need, follower or not. Perhaps we met you because the Goddess felt you needed our help. Or perhaps not. What you do after our meetings is your affair."

"As for the surface," Erel'kiira brought them back on topic, though she nodded in approval to Rhyl'dorl, "We've been many times. It's beautiful, especially during the sunrise and sunset."

"The sun… isn't that the bright burning orb in the surface 'skies'?" Sab'vrae asked, "Wouldn't that hurt your eyes?"

"Well, if you're using infrared vision, of course," Erel'kiira replied, "it's too bright to use heat vision except on moonless nights. The sun will hurt your eyes even in the light spectrum; you're used to a lightless world. It will take some time before your eyes truly adjust to the surface, but it will happen. And it's well worth it.

"I know you've been in a surface raid once, so you may have a vague idea of what it's like up there, at least during the night." The woman warrior continued. "All your live, you've lived in these dank caves, breathing stale air. Do you remember the refreshing quality of the air above? The chilly breeze blowing through your hair?"

Sab'vrae closed his eyes briefly, recalling the elements with a small smile. "It was different… and not necessarily in a bad way." He admitted. "And all those elves we killed that night…" he suddenly frowned, "I enjoy fighting, but… I don't know. I don't enjoy tormenting others. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I've been raised on the principle that our surface cousins are evil, undeserving of life. Now that I think about it… we attacked them without reason, didn't we?" Erel'kiira frowned.

"It is an unfortunate common occurrence. Drow often raid surface cities. We, as a race, hate those above, especially other elves. I believe it's because, subconsciously, we envy their easier way of life, and the fact our race was banished underground for our sins so many eons ago. Surface elves on a whole despise us drow for our evil ways and the pain we cause them. Most surfacers fear and hate us for the havoc we wreak upon their families and homes. However, there are allies of drow such as Rhyl'dorl and myself outside of our race. Not all of Eilistraee's followers and allies are drow, you know."

Sab'vrae leaned back in his seat, absorbing it all. He sighed, "Can we continue this tomorrow night? I need to take this all in little by little if I'm to understand it."

"That's understandable. Tomorrow night then, same time and place. Good night, elderboy." The female cleric waved her hand as he stood, tucking the book away in his shirt.

"Yes… good night." The noble male activated his invisibility spell and crept out of the room.

"We're making slow progress." Erel'kiira shrugged, standing up.

"Slow progress is better than none." Rhyl'dorl pointed out bluntly. Erel'kiira raised an eyebrow at him, then laughed.

"Finally, showing some optimism! I like that." She grinned.

"Feh. Don't get used to it."

---------

That night, for the first time in a long time, if not for the first time ever, Sab'vrae dreamt. He walked through a hazy, fantasy world. Tree, lush grass, and a dark blue sky decorated the scene instead of crowded, damp cave walls. Walking through the knee-high grass, Sab'vrae scanned his surroundings in mixed awe and apprehension. His eyes fell upon a tall, beautiful nude drow woman.

He jumped in surprise, but the woman merely smiled kindly at him. Her long, silky silver hair fell down to her ankles. The drow woman sat upon a large stone, glancing up happily at the full moon in the skies. She produced a flute, playing a beautiful, haunting melody.

The drow male watched her musical performance, mesmerized. Enchanting, the tune chilled him to the bone, yet filled his being with unknown elation. What was this overflowing joy? He'd never felt this way in his entire life.

Finishing her song, the woman lowered her instrument, smiling at the noble once more. She stood, her long hair flowing enchantingly in the breeze. Speaking, her gentle voice touched his very soul.

"A rightful place awaits you in The Realms Above, in The Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow." With that, she turned, walking off and fading into the haze. Sab'vrae gaped, trying to grasp her words. The world disappeared, and Sab'vrae found himself in his bed, senses muddled.

Did he just receive a visit from the Dark Maiden herself? He pulled his covers tighter, shivering.


	14. Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

Over the next months, Sab'vrae studied and restudied his book, slowly grasping its concepts with the aide of his undercover peers. Gradually, something formed inside his mind most drow could never comprehend or develop themselves: a conscience. The elderboy's neutrality ebbed away, day by day, giving into humility and morals.

He still continued his normal day-to-day duties without any odd behavior, but his nights were filled with conflicting feelings. The new concepts thrust upon him by Erel'kiira contradicted almost everything he ever knew. And yet, he accepted them, even if it took him much contemplation.

Months gave way into the following year, then into the next. By then, Sab'vrae understood most of his book. He befriended the two mercenaries, though was careful to retain a commander-subordinate relationship with the during the day. Learning the surface concepts of a "family," the noble found he looked to the duo as siblings in its purest sense, not the twisted farce it played in Ched Nasad.

To his dismay, Erel'kiira approached him with the news of her departure.

"Rhyl'dorl and I must move on. Our contract with the matron mother's expired, and we need to seek out others that need guidance."

"You can't leave!" Sab'vrae nearly begged, "How can I survive in this twisted society without your friendship?"

Erel'kiira smiled, understanding, "I've only opened a door for you, Sab'vrae. It is you who must walk through it. Here, a gift for you. It holds some special enchantments to aid you." She handed him a small carving of a long sword silhouetted against a fully moon -- one of Eilistraee's symbols. The charm hung from a simple silver chain. Sab'vrae inspected the necklace, placing it around his neck.

"I appreciate the present, but… you must take me with you I can aid others with you!" the elderboy insisted.

"No… that's not your calling, your purpose. I can feel it." Erel'kiira responded earnestly, "Something greater will call to you some day. Besides, if you left with us, it would arouse suspicion. Too much for safety. You must remain here and endure for a while longer." Noticing his frown, she added, "Look, if you ever find the chance to leave for the surface, take this with you," She pulled out a small folded square of old paper, handing it to him.

Perplexed, he looked at the cleric.

"Don't lose it." She insisted, turning to leave. She paused, then hugged him briefly. "Take care of yourself. You may have many rough years ahead of you before you can escape, but you'll survive. I know you will." She turned to leave, opening the chamber's door. Outside, Rhyl'dorl stood, waiting.

"Thank you two for everything," Sab'vrae thanked them sincerely. The duo nodded, disappearing into the shadows.

"Perhaps we'll meet again one day, if fate allows it." Rhyl'dorl waved, leaving.

"I look forward to the chance. Watch yourselves." He waited until even his own keen ears couldn't detect their footsteps anymore. Sab'vrae looked down at the folded paper, pondering its purpose.

"Well, I don't need it now, so…" He slipped the paper securely between the pages of his holy book. Ever since receiving it from Erel'kiira, he kept it on his person at all times, usually under his shirt or in his pants pockets.

Tucking his new necklace under his clothes, out of sight, he sighed, returning to his daily routines. Their words rang too true; he couldn't leave without causing problems. It would probably take years to find an ample opportunity, but he would endure. His newfound morals and conscience had in no sense weakened his senses. He remained dangerous to his foes as ever before.

After all, he was a survivor.

---------

Sab'vrae remained busy throughout the year, fast approaching his fiftieth birthday. Upon reaching twentieth rank in the city, Matron Bhin'ree acted much more ambitious, eager to make the rank of "higher" noble. Industrious, indeed, but not reckless, the Aleanani leader spent her time plotting and setting up her pawns to trigger events in her favor.

Bhin'ree often sent her servants and son on odd errands, stringing webs of deceit, unraveling alliances between opponents. Already, Sab'vrae found himself on several assassination missions, all successful on his part. Not too long ago, the missions would have added some excitement in his otherwise dull life, but now they only instilled guilt on his young conscience.

Ever since the day of Erel'kiira and Rhyl'dorl's departure, Sab'vrae kept Eilistraee's necklace around his neck at all times, hiding it under his armor and tunics. At night, he fingered the talisman in silent prayer, asking for forgiveness any time he committed a required, but regretted, sin.

He sighed, turning his thoughts to the present. The elderboy made his way down the corridor, his black piwafwi swishing from side to side. He halted when he spotted his sister, Masantar. The Aleanani heir strutted down the hall, head held high in arrogance. Noticing her older brother, she stopped, putting her hands on her hips with a smirk.

"Well, if it isn't the little hero of our family, the master swordsman captain." She mocked. Sab'vrae rolled his eyes.

"Masantar, that was over a year ago. While that might not seem long ago, it's still old news." Snarling, his sister cracked her leather whip across his stomach. The elderboy kneeled over, clutching his throbbing gut.

"Don't speak to a female in such a manner, especially not one above you in station." The female noble spat, striking him across the back. "Is that clear?"

"Yesss." Sab'vrae hissed, closing his eyes to hide the searing hatred within them. His sister found every excuse to torture him each time they met. He mused over using his insignia's invisibility spell around his sister, otherwise he might end up stabbing her through her black heart one day.

"If you're done being stupid," Masantar snorted, "the matron's called for you. She wants you in throne room immediately. Best not test our mother's temper, dear brother." The younger drow cackled, continuing on her way.

Sab'vrae groaned, straightening his sore body. He felt across his stomach and back, relieved to find no blood or holes. His sister was in a good mood today, he noted. The sooner she returned to school, though, the better for him.

---------

He made all haste to his mother's room, his feet flying soundlessly over the stone floor. The elderboy thrust open the long doors and skid to a halt in the center, stumbling into a clumsy bow.

"You called for me, matron?" he panted. Bhin'ree rolled her eyes, resting her cheek in her fist.

"Perhaps I'll reconsider the candidate for my mission, since my son is a fool." She grunted. Dilaere snickered from his place at her side, but silenced himself at the icy glare sent to him by the matron.

"My apologies, matron mother. I merely tried to reach you with all due haste once your orders were sent to me." Sab'vrae bit his lip, withholding all the bitter thoughts on the tip of his tongue.

"Well, don't bumble about like a _wael_, fool, while on this mission." His mother warned, her eyes flashing in irritation.

"I have served my mistress well in the past twenty years. That's not about to change." _Unless I can get out of here._ He added mentally.

"Let's hope not." Bhin'ree huffed, "Now, I need you to meet with an agent from House Nasandra and escort them to the merchant quarters. While on the mission, you are to obey all orders given to you by the agent. If they wish for you to remain until their task is finished fully, you will stay. Is that clear?"

"What are we doing dealing with the most powerful family in this city?" Sab'vrae asked incredulously. Bhin'ree scowled at her son, then slowly shifted to a small smile, containing her temper.

"Let's just say we're doing a few… 'favors' for some of the Nasandra children, in return for supplies and other forms of aid. This is a matter they require an outsider for, which is why they asked us to help and not use one of their own men."

"Very well. I won't fail you, matron. I shall see to this task at once." With that, the noble son rose, bowing lightly before exiting the room.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to send him on this task?" Dilaere asked humbly once the doors closed. "It's more of a job for a low-rank soldier, not our house's captain.

Bhin'ree grinned impishly, "This is true, but Matron Ardularra's third daughter, Talab'riia, has eyed my son for quite some time now. Imagine the power of House Aleanani if its elderboy became patron of a Nasandra daughter."

"Ah, political reasons. Quite clever, if I do say so myself, mistress. Was the entire mission a ruse, then?" Dilaere asked.

"Not at all. What I told Sab'vrae is all true," the matron mother explained, "but the 'agent' is Talab'riia herself, so I'm almost certain she'll take advantage of her situation after our escort arrives. Before or after the mission, it matters not. But I know Talab'riia's reputation. She won't abandon new meat when it's delivered to her doorstep." The duo broke into a bout of wicked laughter, pleased at their potential to rise further in prestige.

---------

Once again clad in less attention-grabbing garb, Sab'vrae yanked his cloak's hood far over his dark head, shadowing his upper face. He wove through Ched Nasad's packed alleyways and streets, pushing past floods of commoners and foreigners. Upon reaching the higher noble section, he carefully avoided touching the other travelers, not wishing to irritate a short-tempered priestess or archmage.

He recalled an event from the years immediately following his training at Barra Velve. A simple merchant of little renown had the misfortune of bumping into a high priestess not known for her kindness. Insulted by the "insect's" mere touch, she cast doom on the unfortunate drow, killing him quickly and painfully on the spot. Normally, getting caught for murder (but not the act itself) warranted the death penalty by drow "justice." However, because of the large gap in status between the murderer and the victim, no penalty was paid. Higher drow had every right to slaughter those significantly below them, in the shadows or not.

Despite his rank as an elderboy noble, Sab'vrae was only in the middle high class, and a male. Automatically, any females nobles and high nobility ranked far above him. The fighter wished to end his days on the surface, not in the underground caverns. He watched his every step with extra caution.

Hard to miss even for the blind, the House Nasandra complex towered menacingly a mere hundred yards ahead. Ched Nasad's most powerful family ensured the fact remained etched in the citizens. Nasadra's house and grounds covered nearly a third of the Ruling Twelve sector. Two large gates served as the only entrance to the complex. A tall, spiked fence blocked the way for half a mile in both directions. Some ten feet from the fence, the ground dropped into a deep chasm, its bottom undetermined. The abyss stretched onward for over four hundred yards, far too long for a single drow to levitate over. On the other side of the precipice stood the massive First House, its multiple towers watching over the city.

The only accessible route to the building was a long, stone bridge behind the gates, expanding across the chasm, ending before a second gate, Nasandra's last outer defense against possible enemies. Or, so it seemed. More than likely, the towers hid traps and defenses of their own. Never in over six thousand years had the founding family been toppled. Now, Sab'vrae understood well why.

His entire being draining of heat at the sight of the impressive stronghold, the noble slowly approached the front gates. Four visible guards, two in front of the gates, two behind, eyed him menacingly. Gathering his courage, Sab'vrae sucked in a lung full of air, "I… I am here on my Matron's orders to escort one of your people to the merchant's quadrant." The guards exchanged skeptical looks with one another.

"At ease, males. He's my convoy for the day." An icy, feminine voice called from the bridge. The guards jumped, scrambling to open the gates.

"Mistress Talab'riia!" one babbled. The iron barriers creaked open, revealing the way for the speaker.

Stepping through the hatchway with utter confidence, the female noble stopped outside the exit, hands on her hips. She stood two inches below Sab'vrae, average height for a female dark elf at five feet. The woman scanned Sab'vrae's body up and down, smirking as she raised her head to meet his eyes.

"Tall, but not enough to resemble a bungling _rivvil_, human. I like that." The noble drow rubbed her chin, inspecting his face closely. "Pull your cowl back. It leaves too many cool spots on your face for me to identify you."

Reluctantly, Sab'vrae obeyed, sliding the cloth from his head, revealing his features. Talab'riia raised her eyebrows before recognition flashed in her reddish eyes. "I know you! You're Aleanani's elderboy… Sab'vrae, am I correct?"

"Yes… mistress." Sab'vrae avoided her gaze, bowing lowly. Mentally, he swore vengeance at the party responsible for his task. He strongly disliked the lewd stares on the female noble's part. True, Nasandra's third daughter was possibly the most beautiful woman his eyes fell upon, but Eilistraee's words reminded him of true loveliness: that which resided in the soul. By her reputation, Talab'riia's soul could compete with Masantar's over which was the ugliest.

Talab'riia's long legs extended from her nearly ideally shaped torso, her frame narrowing at the waist and curving outwards at the hips. The high noble's white hair flowed loosely to just above her thighs, straight and smooth. Her long, purple robe reached her ankles, though the thin material did little to cover her otherwise nude body. Sab'vrae suspected the effect was intentional. Drow dressed for protection, not modesty. Talab'riia clutched a spiked mace in her right hand, though her clerical powers probably provided more than enough protection. Why she needed him as an escort, the Aleanani man had no inkling.

"That's enough male, you may raise your hood again." Talab'riia ordered, pulling the coif of her own piwafwi over her face. "Let's go. I need to meet my contact at the merchant's quarters within the hour." She slunk past Sab'vrae, her gait shifting her hips sensually with each step. Heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes, Sab'vrae covered his head once more, trotting to catch up. He kept his arms tensed, ready to withdraw his blades instantly if needed.

Somehow he doubted any threats that arose would come from strangers.

---------

Talab'riia seemed to know her way about the city quite well, not to Sab'vrae's surprise at all. Yet again he pondered the point in his presence. He surmised his mother had some alternative objective in this task, and it made him immensely uncomfortable. When not scanning the crowds for hidden assassins or other threats, Talab'riia drifted her eyes towards the attractive male elf, blatantly showing her interest. Even before his conversion religiously, Sab'vrae hated the sexual attention from females, distrusting every one he'd met, save for Erel'kiira. He'd stayed celibate ever since his graduation ceremony; the dark elf had no intention of changing that anytime soon.

Talab'riia held out her arm suddenly, interrupting his musings. "Stop. I have… business here." She motioned to the small magic shop in front of them, "You stay outside until I'm finished. Understood?"

"Of course, mistress." He craftily kept the sarcasm he felt out of his voice. Nodding in acknowledgement and approval, Talab'riia strutted into the store.

Shifting the weight from one foot to the other every few moments, Sab'vrae crossed his arms over his chest. He watched the crowds pass by: commoners, nobles, slaves, mercenaries, and foreigners going about their daily lives, filling the streets with a blend of diverse languages and gestures. Bored, the Aleanani elderboy amused himself by counting the numbers of each race he noticed. A dozen kobolds, thirty goblins, five orcs, ten dwarves, sixteen duergar, three humans, and, to his mild surprise, one surface elf. Obviously a slave. He long lost track of the drow in the crowds, so Sab'vrae simply gave up counting the dark elves in his simple game.

Finally, Talab'riia emerged from the shop. "I'm finished." She stated, pushing him along. "Let's move on. Return me to my home. My business here is done for the day."

"Very well, mistress." He replied, following behind her through the streets as he scanned their surroundings for any possible dangers. She directed them through the crowds and back into the high noble section, redefining Sab'vrae's position as "escort."

"Talab'riia Nasandra and Sab'vrae Aleanani. Let us pass, _rothe srow_, rothe scum." She snapped at the four guards, brandishing her house insignia needlessly. Already her servants scrambled to unlock the gates, pulling the iron barriers open, revealing the long bridge.

"Come with me." Talab'riia commanded, motioning to Sab'vrae, who faltered, unease filling his senses. The female growled, losing patience quickly.

"Now, male, lest I have you flogged and skinned alive for my amusement."

Inhaling deeply, Sab'vrae hissed a, "At once, mistress," before forcing his lead feet forward, following behind the Nasandra noble daughter. She led the nervous male across the bridge, pass the second gates, and through the front doors. Sab'vrae gaped at the immense ceiling of the Nasandra's foyer.

"This way, male." Talab'riia directed, pulling his arm towards a flight of spiraling stairs. They scaled the steps, coming to a slightly smaller, yet still magnificent hallway. The Nasandra noble led Sab'vrae to a long, spider adorned door. Pushing it open, Talab'riia entered the room, Sab'vrae unwillingly close behind.

Aleanani's elderboy gaped once more. "Is this your bedroom?" he inquired in disbelief. The room put his mother's throne chamber to shame. Talab'riia blinked, then cackled with amusement.

"_This_? My _bed_room? Hardly. My bedroom is far nicer. However, it _is_ one of my spare rooms. One I like to… entertain guests with." She tugged on his shirt, her intent painfully clearer than ever more.

"Are you implying…?" Sab'vrae asked, eyeing her distrustfully.

"You're a fine specimen, elderboy," Talab'riia stated what felt like the obvious, "I know well of your prowess in battle and not many males can boast their attractiveness as much as you. Now, all I need to see is if you can please well in bed to suit yourself as my new patron. Shall I test you then?" It wasn't a true question.

Sab'vrae looked from the bed to Talab'riia, then back to the bed, and back to the female. He inhaled deeply, responding when he exhaled. "No." Talab'riia's eyes widened in shock and anger.

"What… did …you just… say?" she growled lowly, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"I won't do it. I have no intention, quite frankly, to 'please' you, let alone become your patron." Sab'vrae spoke with more confidence, finally bringing himself to be honest about his feelings.

"_Wael_! Idiot! Any other male would sacrifice himself to Lloth to take your place!" the Nasandra daughter hissed.

"I said I won't do it. I have no attraction or feelings for you." Talab'riia laughed humorlessly.

"_Feelings_?" she asked incredulously, "By the Spider Queen, what in the Abyss are you talking about? What do 'feelings' of attachment have anything to do with this? They are merely weakness, not to be found in drow of good stock."

"They are no weakness!" Sab'vrae snapped, "Our society's inter wars and selfish ambitions are our weaknesses!" Talab'riia narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Bite your tongue now, _male_," she warned, her tone dripping with venom, "or I shall cut it out from your head for your impiety against The Spider Queen."

Sab'vrae's anger burst through fully, "To the Hells with that damned Lloth and her evil ways!" he snarled. Talab'riia's eyes widened in shock, then quickly narrowed in immense rage.

"Blasphemer!" She howled, unsheathing a hidden curvy dagger, "Mother Lloth shall have your worthless heart for your insubordination!" Talab'riia charged at the male, catching him by surprise, but not off guard.

Grabbing her wrist, Sab'vrae pushed her arm, and in effect, the dagger, away from his heart. Her free arm attempted to beat his chest, and so the elderboy seized it with his other hand, struggling with the female to keep the weapon away from his cardiovascular organ. In general, female drow grew naturally larger and stronger than male drow. However, centuries of mastering her clerical abilities and magic, Talab'riia's muscles had long withered in comparison to Sab'vrae's well developed ones. The two dark elves twisted and strained, each coming close to disarming or deterring the other, but never gaining enough of an advantage.

The dagger's crooked blade coming too close to his jugular vein, Sab'vrae's arm muscles surged with temporary overpowering muscle, finally pushing the blade out of harm's way, winning the brief tug of war as he removed the weapon from her fingers. Talab'riia screamed, and once the elderboy noticed why, he released her, stepping back in shock and fear, the dagger grasped tightly in his hand.

In his last attempt to deflect the weapon, Sab'vrae had unintentionally pushed the blade deep into her gut. Dark blood and bile leaked from the wound. She looked up at him in disbelief, red liquid seeping through her dark lips. She gurgled a few curses at the male, touching her stomach before falling to the ground, dead. Her bloody hand slumped out from her body with a soft plop.

Sab'vrae panted, still processing the sudden event. Slowly, he eyed the red-soaked blade in his hand, then his own bloody fingers. He shook his head in overwhelmed disbelief, dropping the dagger with a clatter. The male backed away from the body, stunned. He'd killed many other drow in his life, but always in combat. Even his assassin marks knew of his approach (as he intended) and fell before him when they failed to face his prowess in battle. Never before had he murdered in what he considered cold blood.

"What have I done?" he gasped, hearing the door creak open behind him. Flipping his head around, Sab'vrae spotted the equally appalled guard.

"G…Guards!" the soldier croaked, "GUARDS! Mistress Talab'riia has been murdered! I have her killer here!" Hearing the clatter of multiple footsteps in the hallway, Sab'vrae stared as the guard charged at him, spear thrust forward to impale.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Sab'vrae dodged the blow enough to avoid any dangerous injuries. However, the tip did manage to cut a thin line across his bicep. Mentally grateful this guard didn't poison his spear, Sab'vrae unsheathed his blades, deflecting the next few attacks. Frantic at the sounds of approaching soldiers, Sab'vrae quickly chanced a miniscule opening, driving his swords into the drow's chest, puncturing both lungs. He yanked his weapons free and sheathed them, grabbing his house insignia on his brooch.

"_Doera feldin_," he hissed, touching the center of the spider symbol. Instantly, he vanished from view, both in the light and infrared spectrums. Perfectly timed, ten guards rushed into the room, utterly bemused at the sight before them: one dead daughter, and one dying guard.

"He… disappea…" the guard wheezed, blood filling his lungs as he expired before finishing. Catching his meaning, the soldiers cautiously inspected the room, keeping their keen ears and eyes alert.

No fool, Sab'vrae had already slipped past them when they opened the door, and quickly made his way down the stairs. Reaching the main foyer and entrance, the elderboy skid to a halt in front of the great doors, attempting to shove them open. They finally gave, creaking outward, surprising the entry guards when no one seemed to pass them.

Sab'vrae reached the first gates and silently cursed, finding them locked. He looked about, knowing the gate was probably warded against magic and levitation spells. Before he could finish contemplating his predicament, one of the upper level patrolmen dashed out, waving his triton about wildly.

"Talab'riia's dead! Her murderer's escaped somewhere into the estate!" he panted.

"The doors opened by themselves a minute ago. He's probably out here." A gate sentry reasoned, turning his gaze towards the gates. He slowly approached the bridge, and Sab'vrae felt his stomach tie up in knots. He pulled out his hand crossbow, quickly checking it. He had one round of sleeping darts left. That meant a mere thirty round of bolts. He'd have to aim quickly, and true.

His crossbow fired thrice, hitting the approaching drow in the throat and his two partners in the sides. The trio of drow slumped over, asleep.

"He's attacking! Get hi-" Sab'vrae shot two more rounds, taking out the remaining two sentries before they could alert the other side of the bridge. Working swiftly, Sab'vrae rummaged their pockets for a gate key or ward stone. Finally finding a matching key, he tugged to remove it, then stopped. Even if he passed the first gates, the front guards would surely notice a hovering set of keys charging towards them. A more suitable plan formed in his mind. He unlatched the gate, then placed the keys back in the guard's belt.

Pulling the napping sentry to his feet with a grunt, the elderboy grasped the body around the waist, and moved forward slowly, giving the guard a slumping walk appearance. Insuring that the sleeping dart was lodged in the back of his neck securely, Sab'vrae placed the guard on his back, dashing through the gates.

He ran as quickly as his overworked feet allowed him to across the bridge, stopping at a hundred yards from the main gate, just out of range of the guards' vision. The noble placed the unconscious guard on the ground, then picked up by the waist one more, checking on the dart again. He made the guard drag himself onward, panting as he approached the entrance.

Spotting the "lurching" soldier, the inside gate guards exchanged looks, walking up to their comrade. Anticipating this, Sab'vrae kept the sleeping drow's head low, hiding his face and lips from view. Lowering his head close to his captive's lips, Sab'vrae croaked, "Attack… on… house from the… inside… Talab'riia's been… killed… need… help… others already… dying…." With that, the male dropped his prisoner, creating a rather effective mock fall.

Detecting the barb in his comrade's neck, the nearest guard yanked it out, briefly inspecting it. "Sleeping dart," he noted, eyes widening in shock. He turned to face his three partners "Come on, we need to get the attackers. If not, the matron will have our skins." He ran across the bridge, missing Sab'vrae completely. The remaining trio exchanged uncomfortable looks, but decided any intruder was preferred over their mistress. Unlocking the gates, the outside guards joined the inner ones, running to the complex.

Sab'vrae evaded them as they flew by, jumping into a roll, tumbling out of the gateway before it closed. Quite pleased and surprised his ruse had worked, the Aleanani son ran into the district, taking himself as far away from the Nasandra house as possible.

__

Word will travel far too fast. They'll be looking for me in the city very soon. Sab'vrae warned himself, weaving through the crowds, avoiding all contact when possible. He noticed his wound begin to seep through his clothes, escaping his invisibility spell. Quickly clapping a hand over it with a squeeze, he cursed. Hopefully none of the passerby would notice an odd spot of heat floating in the air.

__

I can't stay here. All those guards saw me enter the house with Talab'riia, and my mother and Dilaere knew who I was escorting, I'm sure. There's more than enough evidence to get me caught, and for murdering a Nasandra high priestess, no less! I'm far worse off than dead if I remain here. He gave a quick glance at House Aleanani as he dashed past it. _Well, at least I have valid reason to reach the surface, now_. He added with a snort.

He felt his invisibility spell beginning to flicker just as he came upon the city's entrance. Perhaps his goddess favored him at the moment, for the gates remained open, probably about to let a trading caravan through.

Instead of a caravan, a trio of mind flayers walked through the gateway, their ugly, tentacled heads surveying the area. Mind flayers were evil, wretched creatures with immense psychic abilities. Sab'vrae slunk past them nervously. One ithllid eyed him as he passed, but seemed uninterested. The drow ran out into the wild Underdark, disappearing into the shadows just as the last effects of his spell wore out.

Panting and drained, Sab'vrae pushed his way about the tunnels, putting as much distance between him and Ched Nasad as possible. When he could move no longer, he spent the last amount of his energy to levitate himself into a small overhead cavern for the night. Praying silently to The Dark Maiden that no animal nor drow found his hiding spot, Sab'vrae slipped into a weary sleep.


	15. Chapter 14

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Chapter 14

Eilistraee looked upon her lost and struggling follower with kindness. No creature threatened his life while he slept, nor any drow from Ched Nasad, hunting him down for the bounty surely placed on his head. Sab'vrae awoke to sore legs and a throbbing bicep, which began to bleed again once he moved. Grumbling, Sab'vrae ripped off his sleeve, tying it tightly around the wound as a makeshift bandage. Checking his body for any other injuries and finding none, the drow peered over his ledge, cautiously scanning the tunnel.

He sighed, blowing his hair aside, contemplating his next move. "Goddess, what shall I do?" he asked somewhat rhetorically, leaning his head back against the stone. He reached into his shirt, finding her book. Flipping through the pages, he knew he had no light to read it by, but just imagining the words on the paper gave him comfort. He stopped, feeling paper of a different texture. Lifting the folded document, Sab'vrae wrinkled his eyebrows in bemusement.

Finally, he recalled the odd scrap as one of Erel'kiira's parting gifts. "She said it would help me to the surface if I needed to go, but how?" the dark elf mused to himself. Despite the complete lack of light, he unfolded the paper, eyes widening in surprise at the site.

A map! A detailed map, written in infrared ink, enabling him to view it in ultraviolet vision. Obviously enchanted as well, for it showed his exact location in relation to Ched Nasad. A green arrow pointed down the tunnel to the left of his cave. Sab'vrae stuck his head out once more, looking in the direction the map pointed. Perhaps it showed him the nearest route leading to the surface?

__

Surely, what else would it be? Making one last inspection of the area, Sab'vrae held his cloak to his body and levitated back to the ground. Pushing his piwafwi aside slightly, Sab'vrae unsheathed his simpler sword, the one without a red glow. Holding the map in his free hand, the drow crept quickly, yet carefully, down the deep stone tunnel.

---------

Matron Bhin'ree flung a small wooden statue of herself against the stone wall, shattering the artwork.

"May Lloth consume my wretched son!" she fumed, tugging at her snake whip. Dilaere backed away from the matron, deciding to stay silent for the moment. "All my careful plans, unraveled by this fool! I'm surprised House Nasandra hasn't eliminated us yet!"

The weapon master cleared his throat lowly, "If I may, mistress? They've already called the situation 'even' with us, seeing as the young fool supposedly fled into the wild. By now, I'm sure one of the many creatures out there has eaten him. Besides, the Nasandra have five more daughters, most much more capable than Talab'riia was."

Bhin'ree glared angrily in his direction, but held her whip in place, "True, but I can literally feel Lloth's powers draining from my soul. Round up some of our soldiers, Dilaere, especially the officers. It's time to make some sacrifices. Once I regain a fraction of Lloth's favor, I'm going to make you a very, very busy drone. There's much clean up left to do, thanks to my dead son."

"Of course, mistress." Dilaere bowed and exited the room. From that moment on, neither of them spoke of Aleanani's elderboy by name again.

---------

Holding the precious map in his teeth, Sab'vrae desperately battled a drider. "Blessed" by their goddess, Lloth, drider were former drow who failed special tests of skill and loyalty given by the Spider Queen. As punishment, Lloth transformed them into a hideous creature -- a large, headless spider with the upper body of a drow in its place.

Dodging the drider's scimitars, Sab'vrae dropped into a roll, lopping off one of its eight legs. The creature lurched forward, screeching. The dark elf took the chance to spring up and impale its spidery abdomen, steaming blood and acid pouring from the wound. Quickly removing his blade before any permanent damage could befall it, Sab'vrae stepped back from the screaming drider. Worrying the sound might attract more predators, the drow swung his glowing sword, cleanly lopping off the monster's head. The drider slumped, toppling over next to its rolling head.

Sab'vrae took a moment to examine his body. Covered in multiple cuts, but nothing serious, he sighed through the paper in his mouth. He sheathed his swords and removed his shirt and tore the remainder of it to shreds. Taking the pieces, he wrapped them around his more serious wounds, most of them on his torso. Gathering his wits, Sab'vrae plucked the map out from his lips, slightly damp from his saliva. This didn't ruin the markings in any way, thankfully.

Grasping the paper between his dark hands, Sab'vrae continued to follow the marked trail. The drider wasn't the first monster he'd encountered in his nearly month-long trek, but it was the first one that caught him off guard. In his travels, Sab'vrae ran across three Hook Horrors, a few giant spiders, and one Umber Hulk. Using the element of surprise, the drow managed to dispatch them with little effort, save for the Umber Hulk, a large, beetle like creature on two legs. It took two stabs to the monster's eyes before the dark elf managed to subdue it completely.

His stomach rumbled in hunger. Instantly, a purple arrow pointed in a direction opposite the green marker, but much closer to his current position. Weeks ago, Sab'vrae had quickly learned the purple arrow was an indicator of the nearest safe food or water source, both rare resources in the Underdark wilds. The drow adjusted his course accordingly, reaching an illuminated cavern an hour or so later.

The light came from the low glow of a rare Underdark species of moss. Sab'vrae carefully inspected the bright plant, recalling his environmental lessons back at the academy. Finally confirming it as a non lethal growth, the drow yanked the moss from the wall, biting off a piece. He chewed the strangely appetizing moss in his mouth for a long moment, swallowing with a large gulp. He gathered a few handfuls more, wrapping them up in a spare shred of his shirt, tucking it away into his pants pocket. Walking towards the center of the cavern, he found a small pond of clear water.

Closely examining its contents and double checking with his map, Sab'vrae found the water also safe, truly something hard to come by in the underground. Without a flask or glass, he simply dipped his hands in the liquid, bringing it up to his lips. He slurped the fresh, invigorating water, its wonderfully cool touch sating his parched mouth. Sab'vrae drank a few more handfuls before standing. He stretched his sore muscles and continued on, following the green arrow once again.

---------

Seeking shelter in hidden caves and abandoned settlements during his times of rest, and venturing the multiple caverns and passageways of the Underdark during his waking hours, Sab'vrae made slow progress towards the surface. Already he noted the change in the air quality and temperature. He drew ever closer, his six week journey coming to a close. Offhand, he wonderful if the trip took longer than the raid party simply because he traveled alone, or perhaps because the map showed him the safest route, not the quickest. Most likely, both played a factor.

His well worn leather boots scraped against the stone. A light breeze caressed his face and hair. The stony ground mingled with soil as the ground slopped. Sab'vrae glanced at his map, then rolled it up, tucking the paper away. An opening into the surface world was only a few hundred yards ahead. Quickening his pace, Sab'vrae made his way to the top, squinting his eyes as bright light began to invade his infrared vision. Finally reaching the cave opening, Sab'vrae stepped out into the sunny midday world.

It never occurred to him just how blazing the star known as the "sun" could be. And, in his excitement, the drow forgot to switch to the light spectrum.

Howling in pain, Sab'vrae covered his throbbing eyes, brilliant red and white colors temporarily blinding him. He sunk to his knees, groaning. After a few minutes of enduring the agony in his skull, the dark elf concentrated long enough to switch his vision to the light. The red heat glow leaving his bluish orbs, Sab'vrae held his hand over his eyes, shadowing them as he attempted another look at the world.

Despite the shift in spectrums, the surface light still stung his eyes, though not nearly as bad now. He pulled his piwafwi's hood over his head, relieving some of the discomfort. Sab'vrae squinted at the landscape before him, speechless.

How different and wonderful this foreign world appeared in the day! Above him rose rocky mountains intent on touching the light blue skies. Lush, dark green blades of grass covered the earth in every direction, only interrupted in the spots where great leafy trees grew.

His long, keen elven ears detected every twiddle of every raven, every hawk, falcon; the low purr of a sleeping wildcat; the snap of a twig once a wolf trampled it in its daily run. Never before did the dark elf feel so happy, so content at his environment. The cerulean dome above stretched on into forever, filling him with the feeling that no matter how far he climbed, never could he reach the top, reach a limit.

Unable to find another outlet, Sab'vrae threw back his head and laughed. Long, joyfully, and hard until his sides could withstand his merry movement no more. His sides aching, the drow plopped down onto the grass, feeling the blades scratch at his skin. He inhaled another deep breath of wonder, fresh air. If fate allowed it, the fighter decided he would never set foot in the Underdark again.

---------

Before and during his time in the academy, Sab'vrae spent many hours studying the environment of the surface world, a subject that always held a firm interest in him. Many of his teachers and peers scoffed at his knowledge in the area, proclaiming it useless outside of a surface raid. For some time, Sab'vrae pondered if they had a point, but now he never appreciated his bookish understanding of the Lands Above more.

Once the bright, painful sun set over the hills, darkness fell quickly. Overhead, the full moon gleamed brightly, preventing the need to use the ultraviolet spectrum. Finding shelter under a "cave" of bushes and trees, Sab'vrae gathered multiple twigs and dead leaves, starting a small campfire. Upon establishing his temporary base of operations, he set out to hunt for food.

Luck smiled at him when a jackrabbit dashed across his path. It stumbled to the ground a moment after, a sleeping dart lodged in its hindquarters.

"I apologize, creature," Sab'vrae said earnestly, picking up the sleeping animal by the scruff of its neck, "but I need to eat, and meat's a good source of protein." He flicked his concealed dagger across the rabbit's throat, ending its life quickly and painlessly. Sab'vrae carried the dead animal back to his camp, beginning his work.

The dark elf dug his knife under the rabbit's skin, past the muscle and near the bone. He slid the blade through the skin, cleanly removing the unnecessary fur. Once the skin stuck to the meat and bone no more, Sab'vrae placed his meal on a large, freshly plucked leaf. He sharpened a stick to a point, impaling the rabbit's body on it and held the food over the fire. Occasionally, he rotated the skewer, ensuring all sides of the meat were cooked thoroughly.

He jumped when his long ears noted the low plucking of harp chords. He glanced at his surroundings, but saw nothing. Sab'vrae returned to his dinner, finally finishing the roast. Taking the same leaf, he tugged the hare from the skewer, using the plant as tableware. The dark elf bit into the soft, tender meat and tugged, ripping off a chunk of food. He chewed substance for a while in his mouth. _Not bad. I could eat more of these if need be._

Plucking of a fine-tuned harp filled the air again. Sab'vrae chanced another look, and this time spotted a cloaked figure slowly approaching him.His fingers inched towards his sword's hilt, but he made no offensive move, as the approaching creature did not make any threatening advances of its own.

It stopped just within the soft orange-yellow glow of the campfire, and Sab'vrae recognized the figure as a tall, female elf. Though the hood of her simple cloak covered her head, he could easily see her face, and was quite surprised to discover she was drow.

Something about her made him relax his grip on his sword, however. The beautiful dark elf smiled at him kindly. Her very body seemed to radiate a sense of comfort and protection. Breaking the relative silence, the woman spoke.

"Good evening to you, traveler," her gentle and sweet voice greeted, "Would it trouble you much if I joined you and shared a meal? I have not had much luck in searching for food this night."

Raising his eyebrows in curiosity, Sab'vrae slowly nodded, motioning to a nearby rock, "Um, sure. Seat yourself." Gracefully, the elven woman brushed past him and settled herself down on the stone. Pulling off a large piece of rabbit meat, he handed the food to his visitor, "It's not much, I'm afraid, but hopefully it'll fill your stomach enough for now."

She graciously accepted the meal, tentatively chewing on the tender meat. "It is more than enough, thank you."

"You're welcome." Sab'vrae murmured, politely holding off the myriad questions swimming about in his head. His guest turned her gaze to the lit skies, the bright silvery moon shining overhead.

"Such a lovely night," she noted, her eyes somewhat distant. Sab'vrae noted then her cerulean eyes reflected his own. Blue wasn't an uncommon eye color in dark elves, but he was more accustomed to red and yellow eyes in his kin.

"It… is certainly different than what I'm used to." He admitted, nibbling his dinner as he looked at the night sky with her.

"You know, there is a druid grove not far from here, to the east." He blinked in surprise, glancing back at the drow woman, "They are well attuned to nature. Most of its inhabitants are surface elves, and will be suspicious of a drow approaching. However, if you disarm yourself before them and show them your necklace, I am certain they will welcome you in."

Sab'vrae gasped, fingering his Eilistraee symbol, examining it. It now hung around his neck for all to see, ever since his shirt had been reduced to shreds. The melodious ring of a harp filled his keen ears. He looked up, finding his visitor gone and a low, silvery glowing orb.

"I thank you for your kindness and hospitality," the woman's voice echoed about the campsite, "I hope you find the druid grove a good home, at least for now." Her voice faded into the night, along with the silver essence. Sab'vrae's heart pounded in his ears, his breathing increased at the realization of his divine visitor.

"No, thank you, Dark Maiden," he whispered to the trees, holding his necklace close to his heart, "for all the protection and kindness you have given me."


	16. Chapter 15

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Chapter 15

Knowing his weapons and piwafwi's enchantments would diminish more with overexposure to sunlight, Sab'vrae gathered his equipment upon finishing his meal. He recalled the direction Eilistraee had motion towards, and made his way in what he hoped was the east.

His boots scrunched lowly against the fallen leaves of the forest as he made his way through the trees, returning his sight to the heat spectrum. Though the moonlight revealed enough for him to see his path in the dark, it left enough shadows to cloak any possible threats. His trusted his infrared vision would reveal the druids before they noticed him. Sab'vrae wished to ensure he had a chance to prove himself harmless should the nature guardians choose to attack him on sight.

His decision proved useful not much later. Spotting an elven form in the trees, Sab'vrae dodged the arrow that was aimed for his head.

"_Saura Mori'Quessir!_" the archer snarled, his native language rolling off his tongue with ease. Sab'vrae parried the next attack, then dropped to his knees, quickly removing his belt, holding it up for the elf to see his weapons still sheathed.

"_Neshan!_ Stop!" He called out to his fellow fey, "_Amin irma quen_! I wish to speak!" The attacker paused his attacks, mainly in curiosity and surprise that the drow spoke in the elven dialect, not his native language.

Taking advantage of this hesitation, Sab'vrae unclasped his piwafwi, tossing it to the ground. Keeping his eyes on the elf above, the drow swiftly stripped himself down to his loincloth, spreading his arms wide to prove he had no concealed weapons. "_Amin naa Sab'vrae. Amin tul adon_. I'm Sab'vrae. I come peacefully." He promised, holding his necklace up in hopes the archer could see the symbol upon it.

Unable to determine the details of the crest, but unsure if the drow was truly a threat, the elf leapt from his perch, landing softly in the grass. He slung his bow over his shoulders, but withdrew a short sword as a precautionary measure. The only surface elves the drow ever encountered were moon elves, but this male didn't look like them. Instead of pale, bluish skin, this elf's was a light bronze, and slightly less robust than the moon elves he met. A messy, short tussle of copper hair covered the archer's hair, a few strands dangling in front of his bright green eyes. A sun elf, simply stated. Eyeing Sab'vrae, the fey man grasped the necklace and inspected it closely. Slowly, his eyes widened in recognition.

"_You speak our language with ease,_" he said slowly in Elven, slightly relaxed yet still wary, "_Are you using a translation spell or item?_" Sab'vrae shook his head in a negative response.

"_No, I am multilingual,_" he answered honestly, keeping to the elf's native tongue. The elf raised his eyebrows.

"_Can you speak Common?_" the interrogator inquired.

"You mean this?" Sab'vrae switched languages.

"Yes. Stick to it. We have a fair number of humans among our numbers, and it's in your own best interests to stick to a language everyone at the grove can understand."

"Then I am welcome there, um…?" the dark elf questioned. The elf waved his blade in warning before the drow's face.

"I'm Baelas, and no, not quite." He grumbled, "I won't attack you, but, you understand, I must take the precaution that you aren't a spy posing as an Eilistraee follower. We have agents at our grove who can determine if you speak truthfully. Rest assured, if you are who you say you are, 'Sab'vrae', then you have nothing to fear." Baelas slung Sab'vrae's sword belt, piwafwi, and pants over his shoulder before picking up the leather boots in his free hand. He tapped the drow lightly with the flat of his blade.

"Come, walk beside me, and I'll lead you to our home." The elven druid ordered. Sab'vrae complied, his naked feet treading softly through the grass.

---------

Soon the duo entered a large clearing in the trees, a small town of sorts. The houses were mere fur huts, elegant in their simplicity. A large bonfire raged in the center of the grove, the inhabitants encircling it for light and warmth. The drow estimated their numbers at a score and four, maybe five. Among them, he identified mainly other elves, most moon; two more akin to Baelas, sun elves; and one heavy-built, copper-skinned male with brown locks. A rare wood elf.

A few humans mingled with the elves, most reaching above the fey in height. Two creatures, one male, one female, fell in between the humans and elves in appearance. Their ears were close in size to the humans, only pointed like the elves', and their features were somewhat akin to men, with subtle fey alterations. Sab'vrae furrowed his eyebrows in bemusement, unsure what these two were.

A tall, hairy raven haired human male noticed Baelas' entrance, greeting the elf with a hearty laugh and wave. His chortling halted when his eyes turned to Sab'vrae. Following the man's gaze, the other druids fell silent at the sight of the drow. Baelas casually dropped Sab'vrae's belongings at his feet.

"I encountered this drow in the forest, but he did not retaliate when I attacked," the sun elf explained. "Instead, he spoke to me in Elven, claiming peace and stripping himself of all weapons and virtually all clothes. He claims to be one of the Dark Maiden's followers, if you'll notice the necklace on his breast."

The druids broke into a buzz of low mumbles, when the copper-skinned wood elf rose his hands to silence them. He slowly approached Baelas and Sab'vrae, inspecting the drow closely. The wood elf walked with a level of grace even most fellow elves would envy. His dark brown hair stopped at his waist, braided all the way down. All the druid wore was a simple pair of leather pants and a light brown cloth tunic. He left his tan feet bare, walking soundlessly over the grass and dead leaves.

The wood elf picked up the piwafwi, grazing his slender fingers over Aleanani's insignia. The wood elf unsheathed Sab'vrae's long swords, examining their make and condition.

"You say you are an Eilistraee apostle," the tan elf spoke, "yet you carry drow equipment still quite intact from little contact with sunlight. Care to explain?"

"In all honesty… er…" the dark elf paused, unsure how to address the questioning elf male.

"Nai'lan, archdruid of the grove," Baelas whispered.

"Nai'lan," Sab'vrae filled, "I have only followed the Dark Maiden's dogma for the past three years, though my devotion to her and her teachings is quite firm. I only recently managed to escape the hell that is the Underdark." Nai'lan turned to a short moon elf woman.

"Thoila?" he asked. The woman nodded.

"He speaks the truth." She assured. Noticing Sab'vrae's questioning gaze, she smiled, "I am a cleric of Corellon, as well as a druid. The Protector has gifted me with a limited ability to detect when others are lying." The drow nodding, realizing what Baelas had mentioned before.

"Well, then, you are welcome here, brother," Nai'lan grinned, thumping his hand against Sab'vrae's back with surprising force. "But, before I give introductions, I wish to know: what brings you to our grove?"

"I…" Sab'vrae hesitated, unsure he wished to tell them about Eilistraee's visit, "…I was advised I would be welcome here if I proved non-hostile." It wasn't a lie, so Thoila said nothing.

"Well, if you are a newcomer to the surface, then I suppose a druid's grove is an excellent place to grow accustomed to our natural environment." Baelas chuckled.

"Well… um, what is your name?" Nai'lan question, his cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment.

"Sab'vrae. Sab'vrae Aleanani." The dark elf answered.

"Well, Sab'vrae, let me introduce you to my fellow druids." The wood elf gently, yet firmly, grasped the drow by the shoulder and led him over to his comrades. He motioned to the moon elves, introducing them all by name before doing the same with the two sun elves and humans. Last, he came to the strange male and female.

"And these two are Cael'brar and Fiyn, respectively," the archdruid explained, motioning to the male first, then the female. Sab'vrae cocked his head to the side, once again observing them with curiosity.

"Your names are Elven, like most here," he noted, "Yet… you are not true elves, are you?" Rolain, the woolly black haired human, laughed jovially, clapping his large hands on Cael'brar and Fiyn's shoulders.

"No, my dark friend," Rolain grinned, "They are Elari's and my own children -- half-elves." Elari was the only female sun elf in the grove. Sab'vrae's blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Half-elves?" he asked in awe, "Half human, half elf?"

"Of course," Cael'brar chuckled, his voice deeper than the elven males', but higher than his father's, "Haven't you heard or seen one before?" The dark elf slowly shook his head.

"No, never in my life before… I spent many years of my youth studying various topics, but even so, knowledge of the surface is limited to most denizens of the Underdark. Are your kind common?"

"We are more numerous now than the centuries past," Fiyn admitted, "Though in many places, humans and elves discriminate against us for our mixed heritage."

"That is a pity, to be judged by the blood of your ancestry." Sab'vrae mumbled grimly. Not just for the half-elves, he noted, but also in concern to himself. Knowing well from the few human merchants he encountered in Ched Nasad, drow held quite an infamous reputation on the surface world, and for good reason.

Noticing the dark elf's sudden frown, Baelas put an arm around the drow, "Come, you can share my hut tonight -- I have extra room. You're welcome to stay in this grove for as long as you wish. We can even make a hut of your own if you intend to make your visit an extended one."

"Perhaps." Sab'vrae admitted, "That isn't such a bad notion." He allowed the sun elf to guide him into the makeshift shelter, suddenly feeling quite drained. Baelas lay out a spare blanket on the ground for the drow, and soon, Sab'vrae drifted off into a peaceful slumber.


	17. Chapter 16

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Chapter 16

Sab'vrae awoke the next day to find Baelas' cot empty and his belongs beside him. Groggily, the drow pulled on his leggings and boots, fastening his belt to his waist. After a moment's thought, he removed his swords, sheaths included, and lay them with his piwafwi. The sunlight would diminish their unique enchantments if coming in contact with them too much, so he decided it was best to leave them in the dim light of the hut.

The dark elf held his hand above his eyes, squinting in preparation. The light of midmorning, though much less intense than the sun at midday, still nonetheless stung his sensitive eyes. His ebony skin hurt, and, upon close inspection, Sab'vrae noted a light burn had formed on his naked upper body.

"Good morning! Did you sleep well?" Nai'lan greeted, cooking in a large pot over a much smaller flame than the previous night's bonfire. "The others are attending to various duties in the forest at the moment, so it's just us for now, I'm afraid."

Sab'vrae squinted his strained eyes, "Well enough, yes, thank you. Do you have anything to cover my head with? I can't use my piwafwi now without ruining its enchantments."

"The sun will take some time to get used to, my underground friend," the wood elf chuckled, motioning for the drow to seat himself, "but yes, I have a spare cloak or two I can lend you. If you can wait just a few minutes, I'll retrieve one once my cooking is finished." Sab'vrae eyed the thick broth in the pot and inhaled its tantalizing scent in.

"What are you preparing?" he asked, his stomach rumbling in hunger.

"Dakesi and Tekrue stew. Very sweet with a slight salty aftertaste." The archdruid answered.

"Dakesi? Tekrue?" Sab'vrae raised his white eyebrows, "I'm unfamiliar with such foods."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Nai'lan chuckled, "since you've lived underground for so long. Dakesi is a shrub whose salty roots are edible, and Tekrue are swift, four legged animals known for their speed and sweet meat. There's an abundance of tekrue in the area, so it won't harm the local balance if the grove eats one for breakfast."

"The balance?" Sab'vrae's interest distracted him from the pain in his eyes and skin. Nai'lan's hazel eyes gazed up at the drow's blue ones.

"Yes, the balance. We druids guard and protect the balance between nature and the 'civilized' world of cities and technology. Even non druid surface elves value the importance of nature, and treat it with respect. We never take more than we need for food, clothes, and shelter. It's just our way." The archdruid sniffed the stew. "Hm, needs a little more stirring, but your eyes look quite pained. Kindly take over for me while I retrieve a cape for you, please?" He handed the spoon to Sab'vrae and rose, striding over to his hut.

Sab'vrae eyed the spoon and the broth. Slowly, he repeated Nai'lan's motions, hoping he did so correctly. All his life, most of his meals had been prepared for him by house servants. The only time he cooked anything on his own was during the surface raid trip, and even then, he merely roasted rothe meat over a fire, a simple task. During his six week venture alone in the Underdark, he ate any food he found raw.

Nai'lan returned a moment later, a dark green cloak and brown leather shirt in hand. He tossed the clothes into the drow's lap.

"Figured you'd need a shirt to protect your skin, since you don't seem to have one already." The wood elf explained. Sab'vrae thanked the archdruid and slipped the shirt over his torso, clasping the cloak about his shoulders afterwards with the leaf shaped brooch provided. He pulled the hood over his head, relieving some of the strain on his eyes.

"I don't have much knowledge of surface geography," Sab'vrae admitted, "Care to enlighten me as to where I am?"

"You're in edges of Lurkwood's forest, my friend." Nai'lan answered without hesitation, casting a water spray spell that quelled the flames under the pot. "You're in the far north of Faerun, some one-hundred-twenty miles or so south of the Spine of the World. The temperature's comfortable now, but, come Nightal, which is about two months from now, winter's gonna hit hard."

"Spine of the World? Winter?" Sab'vrae asked, puzzled. Nai'lan sighed, realizing how little indeed the drow knew of the surface.

"The Spine of the World is a long, huge range of mountains on the far north of Faerun," he explained, "And beyond them are lands so cold that their entire warm season lasts about three months before the ice and snow settles in. In other words, they live in a land of a nearly eternal winter. They don't call the area Icewind Dale for nothing."

"I know of ice, frozen water," Sab'vrae said, "But snow? It is something cold, as is this winter?"

"Winter is a season of the year that's very cold, at least in the northern lands, yes." Nai'lan confirmed. "Snow is, essentially, frozen rain that falls in winter. When enough of it falls in adequate conditions, it blankets the earth in a cover of powdery white. It's actually quite beautiful despite its chilly temperature."

"Um… seasons? Rain? In the Underdark, it's always a fairly comfortable moderate temperature in most places." Sab'vrae felt foolish, knowing so little of the land he craved to spend the rest of his days in. Nai'lan chuckled, filling a bowl with his stew. He placed a wooden spoon in the broth and handed it to Sab'vrae.

"Here, eat this. I'm sure you'll enjoy it." He offered. Sab'vrae nodded in appreciation and took the breakfast. He blew on the steaming meal to cool it, then sampled a spoonful. The drow mumbled in content. His wood elf companion laughed, "I told you. Now, as for seasons and rain… Rain comes from the clouds above, in the sky. See those white, puffy things up above us?"

He pointed, and Sab'vrae chanced a quick glance, nodding, "When a lot of them gather together and become darker, that often means a rainstorm's coming. All rain is are droplets of water pouring from the clouds. It can come in a light drizzle, barely noticeable, or pouring down harshly, soaking one to the bone in mere seconds. A downpour might annoy the weary traveler, but rain's essential to plant and animal life up here."

"That I can understand, I think," Sab'vrae said, pausing between bites. "Water is a rare and important resource in the Underdark. Those who control an area with it guard the source intensely and selfishly."

Nai'lan nodded, "I see. Now, with seasons… you do keep track of the year in sections by month, yes?"

"Of course. Hammer, Alturiak, Ches, Tarsakh, Mirtul, Kythorn, Flamerule, Eleasias, Eleint, Marpenoth, Uktar, and Nightal -- Calendar of Harptos, just like you surfacers use."

"Well, seasons here are the change in the weather. There are four -- Spring, summer, autumn, and winter." Nai'lan explained, "In spring, the weather is moderate and sunny, and nature is in full bloom. It falls from mid-Ches to mid-Kythorn. Summer is similar to spring, only it's generally much hotter -- the hottest during the year. The days are longest during the summer, and night can fall as late as eight o'clock. This season lasts from mid-Kythorn to mid-Eleint.

"Autumn is when nature prepares herself for the winter. Much of the plant life dies or begins to hibernate. The trees shed their leaves in an array of colors -- red, yellow, orange, brown. It's possibly the most colorful and beautiful time of year. Autumn lasts from mid-Eleint to mid-Nightal. The last season, winter, as I told, is harsh and cold. Much of nature lies dormant beneath the cold snow, and food's hard to come by if not already stocked up during autumn. The opposite of summer in every way, winter days are shortest in the year. It lasts from the end of autumn to mid-Ches, where spring begins anew and the cycle repeats itself."

Sab'vrae listened intently, fascinated. "There's so much to learn about this strange world above my birthplace." Nai'lan laughed, clapping a tanned hand on the drow's shoulder.

"Well, we'll be happy to teach you anything we can." He promised. After a moment's thought, he added, "Sab'vrae, would you ever consider becoming a druid?"

"You mean like you guys in the grove?" the dark elf asked, admittedly intrigued by the offer.

"Yes -- a guardian and warrior for the Balance and protection of nature." Nai'lan confirmed, "We druids, much like clerics, can cast spells, but only ones granted to us by gods. Nature gods, specifically, so our magic is nature-based."

Sab'vrae shifted uneasily, "I would have to follow a nature deity?"

Sensing the drow's source of worry, the wood elf chuckled, "You wouldn't have to revoke your vows to Eilistraee. You can worship the nature gods -- the elven Rillifane, the human Silvanus, and the half-elf Mielikki, to name a few -- by showing your respect towards nature. You don't need to worship them solely, and, if you did venerate them, you could still keep Eilistraee as your patron deity."

"I could worship more than one god?" Sab'vrae asked incredulously.

"Well, as long as they don't have conflicting motives, of course. It's usually the evil gods that preach themselves as the 'one true gods' and will not tolerate any other divine worshipping by their followers." Nai'lan construed. "Eilistraee is an alley of the Seldraine -- the Elven pantheon -- and most of the good-aligned deities. She would not punish you for venerating the nature gods if you still abide by her dogma."

Sab'vrae sighed with a slight grin, "Of course, she is a goddess of kindness and understanding. I should've already known that." He looked up at the archdruid. "Perhaps I will take you up on your offer, but I'll need time to consider it."

"Take all the time that you need, my dark skinned friend," Nai'lan smiled, then looked beyond the drow, "Ah! The grove returns! Help me fill these bowls for our friends, would you?"


	18. Chapter 17

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Chapter 17

The dark elf kept his borrowed cowl over his face while he aided Baelas in scouting the forest for orcs, goblins, and other evil creatures. The sun did not sting his eyes as intensely anymore, but still enough to keep his face covered.

On his belt the drow wore two simple long swords lent to him by the sun elf, as his own were still in the protective shadows of his own hut. A month had passed since his arrive at the grove, and already the leaves began to change colors and fall, warning of winter's fast approach.

"You know, Sab'vrae," Baelas said offhand, "If you want to use your own equipment and still retain their unique magical properties, I know an elven cleric of Eilistraee and a half-elf mage who could possibly assist you in the matter."

Disregarding the notion as to why Baelas never mentioned this before, Sab'vrae instead asked, "So, even some surface elves worship The Dark Maiden?"

"You of all people should know Eilistraee will accept anyone into her church that honestly believes in benevolence and aiding those in need." The sun elf shrugged.

"I do know this. That's not what I meant," Sab'vrae corrected, "Generally, surface elves and drow elves do not get along, yet you know a surface elf who venerates a drow goddess?"

"We don't hate you, my friend," Baelas pointed out, "we merely just acted on our past experience with raiding drow parties and spies -- with caution. But yes, there are some surface elves who embrace the thought of uniting the fey folk as allies of good on the surface just as much as yourself."

"I suppose I shouldn't stereotype against others," Sab'vrae mused grimly, "just as I don't wish for others to stereotype against me."

"We're all flawed in many ways, my dark friend," Baelas grinned, jabbing the drow lightly with his elbow. In their short time together, the two elves had become fast friends. Though Sab'vrae enjoyed the entire grove's company, he found himself attached to the sun elf most of all, seeing the same wry and slightly mischievous sense of humor he himself had discovered within himself upon his escape to the surface.

His conversion to Eilistraee's faith already turned his moral values and beliefs year ago, but it was his flight from Ched Nasad's evil ways and chaotic, dangerous lifestyle that allowed Sab'vrae's apathetic outlook on life to ebb away. In a mere month, the drow found his constantly grumpy and cynical mood to slowly vanish, replaced with elation and good humor. Though still thinking over Nai'lan's offer, the drow found euphoria in the simplicity of nature, from the sweet scented rose to the might of the furry grizzly bear. Though the Underdark held many creatures, plants, and an unusual beauty of its own, nearly all of it seemed dull in comparison. How he survived half a century in its depths, the dark elf never understood.

Sab'vrae's main reason for his delay in an answer was his discovery of certain restrictions druids must adhere by. Only light and medium suits of armor were allowed, so long as they were of nonmetal make. Metal weapons were discouraged, but permitted by most nature deities if the user sacrificed some of his druid abilities. Well-tuned to his style of fighting, Sab'vrae refused to give up his long swords, but wasn't sure if he enjoyed the notion of limited druid skills.

Bringing the topic back to its original subject, Sab'vrae laughed, "I thank you for the offer on the priestess, my friend. But don't rush on it or inconvenience yourself to contact her on my behalf. I don't need my piwafwi's extra protection at the moment, and for now, these simple blades will suit my just fine. Most of the enemies we've encountered fall easily enough when stabbed by these."

Baelas grinned, "True enough, drow. True enough." Sab'vrae jerked his head to the path behind them. The sun elf's face fell, "Do you hear something, Sab'vrae?" All elves had keen hearing, but, as the druids quickly learned, the drow did most of all. Even outside of his native caverns, the ex-elderboy could hear hostile creatures approaching moments before his lighter skinned kinsmen.

"Something's making a lot of noise, heading this way." The drow noted. "Don't you hear it?" the two fell silent, each straining his ears. Finally, after a long pause, Baelas detected the distant crunching of leaves and twigs.

"Sounds like an orc band. C'mon." He urged his companion to follow him into the cover of nearby bushes. The two fey men concealed themselves and observed silently as a dozen orcs stomped through the path, some carrying large loot sacks, all brandishing crude weapons.

"Where you think they're headed?" Sab'vrae whispered lowly to his comrade.

"There's a settlement of caves nearby -- probably heading back to their lair from a raid, or preparing for one." Baelas observed, turning his head in the direction of the passing orcs.

"Well…" Sab'vrae grinned, his near-white teeth contrasting with his black skin, gripping the hilts of his blades, "shall we investigate further?" Baelas returned the smile, pulling out his longbow.

"Let's, indeed. I'll take the route by trees -- you follow on ground." With that, the sun elf scaled the nearest oak. Sab'vrae nodded in agreement, silently shadowing the orc band's movements.

---------

The scouting duo followed the orcs for a few miles, avoiding discovery. Soon, as Baelas predicted, the monsters arrived at a cave opening, lighting a few crude torches before entering. Once the last orc disappeared into the cave's depths, Baelas dropped from the trees, meeting Sab'vrae by the entrance.

"Go in?" the drow asked. His partner nodded.

"Orcs often disturb the Balance with their destructive ways," the sun elf stated, "Let's see if we can discover their purpose first, though, before we attack. Most of the orcs around here prey on the merchants and other travelers through Lurkwood, so I suppose that's what this band's up to. Still, you never know when something bigger is afoot."

"Good point. Let's go." Sab'vrae crept into the shadows, while Baelas, using his druidic abilities, shapeshifted into a wolf. The duo quietly padded behind the monsters, following them down a long, winding tunnel. Finally, the dozen orcs entered a large cavern, obviously their living space. Only one orc currently occupied it before they came, and he sat upon a simple throne made by assembling large stones in the shape of a chair.

This larger and obviously dominate male snarled something in the guttural orcish language. Sab'vrae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember his somewhat half forgotten orcish. Something about a house and a ranger… He turned to Baelas, whose wolf form revealed nothing of his inner feelings. The drow listened closely to the orcs' grunting, roughly translating inside his head as quickly as possible.

He managed to figure out that this particular orc band was plotting against one of the forest's native inhabitants, either for standing in their way or just for fun -- the drow was unsure of his translation on the last part. More importantly, he understood they were up to no good, and that's what mattered. He exchanged looks with the wolfish Baelas, who nodded his furry head.

Unsheathing his weapons, the drow fighter silently charged forward, his transformed friend leaping above him. Baelas landed on a surprised orc's head, biting and clawing. The unintelligent beast screamed in pain, waving his ax about in an attempt to thwart the druid. Instead, he blindly embedded his weapon in the skull of a fellow orc who had the misfortune of standing too close.

The other orcs clambered away in confusion, only to find themselves attacked from behind. Sab'vrae severed one orc's head and impaled another before the band realized the other threat in their home. The leader screeched, scrambling out of his throne.

"Dru! Dru!" he wailed, pointing at the dark elf in fear. Sab'vrae grinned, realizing an advantage he held due to his heritage. Whirling his twin blades dangerously, the warrior skewered three more of the creatures before the rest regained enough sense to fight back. Six orcs fell upon the dexterous drow, brandishing axes and crudely made swords. Sab'vrae ducked and dodged, countering the blows best he could. Though enjoying the heat of battle, he also wished to live out the day. He yelled over to Baelas for aid.

The wolf druid twitched his ears in hearing and quickly ripped the orc's throat out. He leapt from the dead monster and latched onto the nearest orc's ear, distracting it from Sab'vrae. The grunt howled in agony, attempting to lop the druid's head off. Baelas leapt away, causing the orc to half decapitate himself.

__

Seven down, six to go. He thought with a mental grin, chewing on his current opponent's nose.

Now facing four orcs instead of six, Sab'vrae parried the blows more easily, but still suffered a nasty cut to his ribs and thigh. Wincing slightly, but overall ignoring the minor injuries, the drow embedded one sword into an orc's heart, the other in another's throat. He tugged, but neither sword gave way, stuck in the orcs' bodies.

Realizing this, the remaining two attacking orcs grinned, each charging towards Sab'vrae from opposite directions, sandwiching the drow. Improvising, Sab'vrae bent his legs, then, using all his lower body strength, pushed himself off the ground, using his grip on the swords as makeshift balance holds. The dark elf split his legs, leaving more room between him and the orcs.

Understanding the tactful move too late, the shocked orcs tried to skid to a halt, only to collide with each other, incidentally skewering themselves of the other's weapons. Sab'vrae landed on their bodies and quickly leapt off. He placed a foot on one orc's body and managed to yank his first blade from its chest. He repeated this effort with the second, tugging the second sword from the orc's neck. The drow turned on the orc leader with Baelas, who'd since dispatched the last opponent.

"Pleez! Meeb surrenda! Donz kills meeb!" he begged in choppy Common. Baelas growled, leaping upon the large orc and swiftly digging his teeth into its neck. The orc screamed with a low gurgle, soon falling limp. Baelas released the dead orc and shifted back to his elven form, lips dripping with dark blood. He wiped his mouth off, turning to Sab'vrae. Similarly, the dark elf wiped the blood from his weapons with an orc's tunic.

"They were planning to attack Olren, a human ranger that resides in this forest, and a good friend of mine." The sun elf growled. "It sounded like they already ransacked his house, so we should probably check their loot bags."

"Good idea," Sab'vrae agreed, and with that, the two elves set to work.

---------

Rushing through the trees as much as their overworked legs allowed, the burdened companions soon reached a small clearing, upon which a small log cabin stood. Panting, the sun elf bounded up onto the wooden porch, pounding his fist against the door.

"Bah! I'm bloody comin', hold yer damn knockin'!" a gruff voice yelled from inside. Footsteps thumped from inside before the front door creaked open. A buff human man on the verge of hitting middle-age stood in the doorway. A shock of bright red hair sprouted from his head in an unruly manner. A thick bushel of facial hair covered his jaw, otherwise he remained clean shaven. His simple cloth and leather armor reflected his nature based profession: the material was dyed in earthen hues of browns, dark greens, and other neutral colors. A sheathed scimitar hung closely strapped to his hip, and his thick boots ran only up to just above his ankles.

The man held a crossbow at the ready -- apparently, he was used to hostile visitors -- but relaxed at the sight of Baelas. His ease lasted only a moment, however. Upon eyeing the drow behind the sun elf druid, the human tensed again, snapping his crossbow up to shoot, snarling in a string of strange curses.

Baelas calmly knocked the weapon aside with his knuckles. "At ease, Olren, Sab'vrae's a friend; he's one of the Dark Maiden's folk."

"Ne'er thought I'd live ta see one o' her kin'." Olren muttered, tossing his weapon aside. He eyed the large sacks on the elves' backs, "Wha' ye elfkin fools doin', breakin' yer backs ou' 'ere? Get in, get in 'ere!" He motioned the companions inside, to which the elves quickly complied.

"Sorry fer the mess," Olren apologized, closing his front door, waving his hand at his cluttered interior, "But some blast'd beasts ransacked th' place while I was out." He yanked up two overturned chairs and set them straight, offering the seats to his guests. The two elves dropped their sacks and sat themselves down.

"Actually, that's what we're here for, Olren." Baelas said, pulling open his sack.

"'Ey! Tha' be my missin' stuff!" the ranger exclaimed, examining the bag's contents, "Wher' ye get it?"

Sab'vrae cleared his throat and the human turned to his direction, "We found them amongst a band of orcs plotting against you. Baelas and I already dispatched them." Olren nodded, rubbing his small beard.

"There been somethin' buggin' an' plottin' against me," the ranger agreed, "But I dunno if it's jus' the orcs ye kilt."

"You think the orcs worked for someone else?" Baelas asked, somewhat skeptically.

"It's not unlikely. Orcs are known for associating with evil greater and smarter than them if the promise riches and battles suffice their horrid ways," Sab'vrae snorted. At the others' curious looks, he added, "Hey, there were orcs in the Underdark, too. Many slaves captured from the surface, but I still knew enough about their background before I fled up here."

"Well, Olren," Baelas sighed, "Do you have any idea exactly who's behind it?"

"Not exactly who, no," the human admitted, "but I have been keepin' a close eye on the villages borderin' Lurkwood. As o' late, though, Hawksburgh's been actin' odd."

"How so?" the sun elf questioned. Olren rubbed his thick neck.

"Well…" he sighed, "it's been way too quiet, even for a modest hamlet. I haven't seen the childrun runnin' about outside fer a few days, nor any o' the adults farmin' or tradin' or nuffin'."

Sab'vrae pursed his dark lips, "Why haven't you investigated further on the matter?"

"Sometimes, when th' threat o' orcs or other big raidin' parties comes to these villages' attention, they flee to anutter town or th' nearest city," Olren explained. "But still, I _was_ gonna check on 'em, but then my ring here started flashin'." He held up his right pinky finger to show a silver ring encrusted with a dark green gem. "It's enchanted ta lemme know when someone's breakin' into my place. I ran back here to fin th' place as ye see it now."

Baelas rubbed his chin, "This may indeed just be the villagers fleeing at the threat of an orc raid. They're quite common in these parts, despite our best efforts to prevent them…" the sun elf sighed, running a hand through his copper hair.

"Perhaps we should all investigate the matter in case it is something more." Sab'vrae suggested, "Since we don't know what we're getting into, it might be wise to bring a few from the grove with us."

"I'm likin' this drow more an' more by the minute!" Olren grinned, picking his crossbow up from the ground, "What say ye, Baelas?"

"I suppose the grove can spare two or three druids to help," the elf druid conceded, "and if it's nothing serious, then no harm done."

Sab'vrae rose from his seat, reflecting the human's mischievous smile, his hands on his simple swords, "Well… shall we go make a quick detour before we go creature hunting, then?"

---------

Nai'lan, after hearing of the trio's plight, readily agreed to offer the grove's support.

"Normally, I would help, but there's been some trouble with poachers by the River Surbin." The wood elf apologized, "However, I'm sure a few of the others will be willing to aid you."

"I haven't had any fun in weeks!" Rolain laughed, slinging an arm around Baelas' and Sab'vrae's shoulders, "And if trouble should present itself, I won't let you guys leave me out of it!" Elari rolled her eyes with the elven duo, but smiled.

"Then I'd better accompany you four ad well, least my bumbling human husband leads you all off a cliff." She teased, twirling a long quarterstaff in one arm.

"'Tis settled then!" Olren thrust his crossbow arm in the air, "Off to Hawksburgh!"

---------

By late afternoon, the party of five reached the small hamlet lying on the outskirts of Lurkwood. True to the ranger's word, not a soul lingered outdoors, nor did any of the houses show signs of life.

"Creepy." Elari summarized, her male partners nodding in agreement. Olren looked about the silent buildings, grunting.

"It'd be kin if we split up. I'll inspect the town center, while the rest of ye each inspect a different section of the village, all right?" he instructed, holding his crossbow close. The four grove inhabitants mumbled their agreement, each splitting off in a different direction.

Sab'vrae slowly crept into the eastern end of the town, his eyes more alert now that the sun began to settle behind him, beyond the distant mountains. The setting star shadowed the settlement, but the drow easily countered this by shifting into the heat spectrum whenever his couldn't penetrate the dark in light vision. Hand on his sword hilt, Sab'vrae slowly pushed on a door, finding it unlatched. Furrowing his eyebrows, the dark elf opened the entrance and stepped inside, tensing himself for any monsters that may leap out.

Nothing.

Perplexed, Sab'vrae walked about the small, modest home. Unlike Olren's cabin, there were no signs of a ransacking or struggle. Quite the contrary -- everything was in place, like the family residing simply up and left in the middle of their activities one night. The dark elf peeked under the table, beds, chairs, and everything else for any possible clues. No trace of anything, not even missing clothes or supplies to imply the family fled for another town. He sighed, rubbing his neck. Leaving the house, Sab'vrae turned down an alley to search any boxes or crates he could find.

Overturning a few boxes, the drow finally found something of interest. Behind the abandoned supplies of a general store, Sab'vrae picked up a small, seemingly out of place cloth. Turning the fabric over, he noticed an odd symbol embroidered on it: a flame with eyes burning above a dragon's claw. Unfamiliar with this crest, Sab'vrae pondered its meaning when his keen ears rang with the vibrations of a woman screeching in the distance.

---------

Baelas yanked at his hair in frustration. The southern sector was mostly comprised of minor shops, and even the skilled druid could not find any traces of an attack or a fleeing town. Everything was as it should be -- only without townspeople. This disturbed the sun elf greatly, wondering what forces could have caused an entire hamlet to leave everything instantly and abandon their home.

Ready to return to Olren with his negative results, the elven druid nearly jumped out of his boots when Elari's high pitched shriek filled the air. Pulling his longbow from his shoulders, Baelas cursed and loaded his weapon, dashing in the direction of the scream.

---------

Rolain growled, his short spear already in hand at the sound of his wife's distress. Long ago the human learned the young moon elf was quite a capable fighter, despite her frail appearance. Still, ever the protective husband, the human druid didn't wish to risk his lover's life on anything.

---------

Even Olren's slightly inferior human ears heard his friend's cry, and the ranger was the first to detect the elven female. He blinked in surprise at the sight before him. A young, bear-sized red dragon clawed at Elari, who parried the attacks with her wooden staff.

__

I haven't seen a dragon, even a dragonling, in these parts before. The ranger thought, perplexed. He shook himself out of his pondering, however, reminding himself that a small dragon was still a dragon. Loading his crossbow with a "click!" the ranger aimed the weapon and fired rapidly. The bolts deflected off the dragonling's scaly hide harmlessly, but did divert the overgrown lizard's attention for the moment. It hissed angrily, flapping towards the human.

"Oy! Who said you could attack the ranger, let alone my wife!" Rolain's angry voice shouted from the west, throwing his arm out. His fingers and mouth moved in the quick incantations of a spell, and, sure enough, a short storm of lightning bolts struck the red dragon with fury. The flying creature screeched in pain, turning instead to the human druid who dared injure it, if only mildly.

"Bad day to pick a fight, monster!" Baelas growled, arriving with his own incantation. The earth beneath the dragonling rumbled, and, a moment later, a large pillar of ice erupted, slamming into the monster and sending it cartwheeling through the air.

Bruised, but now more irritated than anything else, the young red dragon growled, diving at the band of forest guardians. The orange glow of dragon fire formed in its mouth. Olren and party scattered, to little effect. Even at an early age, dragon breath covered a large distance and girth. Rearing its head back to release its lethal fire, the red dragon closed in on the two elves.

A globe of utter darkness consumed the dragon's head, halting the creature in mid attack. Enraged and confused, the monster flew about, attempting to remove the blind covering, but to no avail.

Surprised, the band turned their heads in the direction of their drow ally. Sab'vrae waved at them frantically.

"All drow can do it, but since I've lived up here for a while, my globe of darkness won't last very long! Quickly, cast your spells and aim your weapons at its vital points!" the dark elf exclaimed.

Regaining their wits, the forest defenders obeyed. Olren and Baelas fired arrows and bolts in rapid succession, attempting to hit the dragon's hidden eyes. Rolain and Elari twisted their fingers and lips in divine incantations, hurling elemental spells at the beast. Distracted by the onslaught, the dragon failed to notice when Sab'vrae's globe of darkness vanished.

Seeing their chance, the sun elf and human ranger aimed their ranged weapons and fired, striking true. A bolt and an arrow embedded themselves deep within the dragon's eye, penetrating the brain. With a great screech echoing through the trees, the young dragon plummeted to the ground, shaking the earth upon impact. The giant lizard twitched for a few long moments, then finally fell utterly still.

Lurkwood's guardians stood in silence for a while, before Rolain broke it with a nervous chuckle, "Well, no one told me red dragons reside in hamlets."

"They don't." Baelas agreed, though a bit more seriously, "Something is terribly wrong here."

"Perhaps… _this_ means something to any of you?" Sab'vrae offered, holding out the cloth for his comrades to examine. To his surprise, shocked and fearful expressions filled his friends' faces.

"What's the Cult of the Dragon doing around here?" Elari wondered, her slender eyebrows raised in shock.

"'The Cult of the Dragon'…?" Sab'vrae questioned, once again feeling silly at his lack of knowledge of the Night Above.

"They're an insane society of those dedicated to bringing about the 'inevitable' rule of Faerun by undead dragons." Baelas explained with a shiver. "The cult's followers worship evil dragons and help turn them into lichs. This is a hard task, indeed, but not impossible, considering most of the cult's followers are human mages specializing in necromancy."

"…You mean people actually _create_ dracolichs?" the drow inquired incredulously, "And you surfacers find the Underdark full of madmen…"

"We've got to find out where and what the society's doing in Lurkwood." Elari pointed out grimly. "Certainly, no good can come of their involvement here."

"The Balance would suffer greatly, indeed," her husband agreed, "if it hasn't already, that is."

"What do you suppose the cult's done to the village?" Sab'vrae asked out loud. After a moment's thought, his sun elf friend answered first.

"Oftentimes, the cult gathers large populations of innocents for sacrifice -- either to increase their dragonlich's power, or to aid in the dark rituals required to turn such a creature into an undead." The druid explained.

"That makes some sense, but… there are no signs of struggle here. Everyone here simply… left." The drow emphasized his point with an "I have no idea" shrug of his shoulders.

"Many of the Cult of the Dragon's followers are wizards specializing in necromancy," Rolain said, "but their ranks still contain other sorts of spell casters, so…"

"…It's quite plausible that they used their magics to charm everyone in this village into following them to their lair." His wife finished his assumption.

"Well, then… how do we track them?" The drow quipped, racking his brain for any possible solutions.

"Hmm… I suggest ye all return ta yer grove, and I ta my cabin," Olren advised, "Night's fast approaching, and Lurkwood's nay very hospitable during the dark hour'n. "Perhaps your archdruid can use his talents or connections for answers this eve. If not, we can summon some of our own wizard allies with scrying abilities."

Baelas sighed, "I would wish to end this business as soon as possible, if only for the village's sake -- assuming they're still alive at this point -- but, you have a point, my friend. We'll have to continue this elsewhere."

The small party gathered their wits and returned into Lurkwood, each pondering the consequences of the conspiracy they had stumbled upon.


	19. Chapter 18

****

Chapter 18

Nai'lan reacted to the grim news with skillfully controlled alarm.

"That's not a good sign…" he muttered, his hazel eyes flashing in distress. He took a long, deep breath. "I shall attempt to contact The Leaf Father, Rillifane, tonight and see if he will aide us. If not, we can easily reach Lathhan in a short span of time. He should be able to discover something with the symbol Sab'vrae found. To my knowledge, he's not currently preoccupied with other affairs."

"Lathhan? Is he one of your wizard contacts?" Sab'vrae inquired, though he directed the query at Baelas, who nodded.

"He's a half-elf mage that resides in the Evermoors, near Nesmé, some hundred-and-thirty or so miles from here." The sun elf explained, "He's originally from around here, though, so he maintains a portal for quick transportation to important locations in Lurkwood, including our grove."

Sab'vrae nodded in understanding, "I see." To his left, Rolain let out a great yawn, stretching his brawny arms out wide.

"Well, it's getting late -- the moon's already directly overhead," the human druid noted to his companions, "from the sound of it, much of our work's yet to be done, so I for one wish to rest while I can." Elari rubbed her eyes in agreement to her husband's announcement.

"It is far into the night. I think I shall retire as well." The couple bid their friends good night and ventured into their shared hut together.

"You two should be resting yourselves as well," Nai'lan suggested to the remaining sun and dark elves. "You've both had a long day, and more than your share of scratches compared to the others." For the first time in hours, Sab'vrae recalled the bandages wounds on his torso and thigh. He chuckled lightly.

"You do have a point. Though I do love to celebrate The Dark Maiden's gifts to me by dancing in her beautiful moonlight, I must really give my aching body a break until morning. Good night, my friends." The drow gave a low bow of his head and retreated into his hut for the night.

---------

Despite his tiresome day, the drow found he couldn't sleep through the night. Arising at dawn, Sab'vrae pulled on his clothes and a set of leather armor. He strapped his simple weapons to his waist, pulled his cowl over his head, and exited his home. Much to his surprise, a quarter or so of the grove gathered around the center, greeting their drow companion.

"Come, sit with us," Nai'lan urged, patting to the space next to him on a log. Sab'vrae complied, leaning over to identify the druids present. All who participated in the short adventure the day before stood amongst the circle, as well as Cael'brar, Fiyn, Thoila, and a human ranger the drow did not recognize.

"This be Kolgar, my nephew an' fellow ranger," Olren explained, clapping his hand on the younger human who bore a striking resemblance to the middle aged ranger. From his head sprouted the same bright red hair, and his eyes held the same wisdom and good humor of his uncle's. Sab'vrae nodded in acknowledgement, and Kolgar returned the gesture. Nai'lan cleared his throat, returning to matter at hand.

"I managed to contact Lathhan last evening, so we should expect the mage here soon." he explained to all gathered. Apparently, Sab'vrae timed his entrance perfectly. "Once, and, if, we can detect the location of the Cult, all of us here will venture there, if possible, and try to solve this mystery. The Cult of the Dragon is very dangerous, so we're going to need all the aid possible without attracting too much attention. Daewyrr will command the grove in my absence." Daewyrr was a human woman only in her late twenties, but very wise for her age and a competent leader when need be. A perfect temporary replacement for Nai'lan.

"Now, we should decide what groups we'll need to split--" the wood elf archdruid literally jumped inches from his heat when a loud "POP!" exploded in the grove. The druids, rangers, and fighter turned their heads to the source of the sudden noise. Standing some yards from them was a very frazzled half-elf, probably of moon elf lineage.

His skin tone was similar to Thoila's, only a shade darker. A shock of true blue hair grew from his head, a rare color for a full blooded moon elf, let alone one half human. His intense gray eyes held speckles of gold, a mark of his mixed elven and human blood. His long, normally light red mage robes were scorched half black, as was his face.

Cursing, the half elf mage attempted to dust himself off, muttering lowly, "That's the last time I try to replace 'eye of rat' with 'eye of bat' as a spell component." Sab'vrae blinked at the odd wizard while the others assembled merely chuckled knowingly.

"It's good to see you again, Lathhan." Nai'lan greeted the smoking mage with a full grin. Lathhan straightened his tousled hair with his remaining dignity and sighed.

"You told me of an urgent matter regarding the Cult of the Dragon. I hardly consider that to be a laughing matter. Now, do you want my scrying abilities or not?" the mage huffed. Sab'vrae chuckled to himself. Apparently, even surface wizards held themselves with great pride.

"Oh, do lighten up, my young friend!" Nai'lan laughed, "Sab'vrae, do you still have that Clan crest with you? Could you hand it to Lathhan so he can use it for scrying?" The drow nodded, sitting up and reaching into the depths of his leather armor. Finding the cloth, the dark elf walk over to the shocked and jaw locked mage.

More amused than offended, Sab'vrae laughed, stuffing the Clan symbol in the half elf's hand. "_Xun naut eszak. Usstan uil natha abbil_." He said to the mage, putting on his thick drow accent as he spoke in his native tongue. Sab'vrae patted Lathhan's back and returned to his seat to the uproar of the gathered woodsmen.

"Don't worry, my boy," Nai'lan assured Lathhan between laughs, "Sab'vrae didn't curse you. He's a friend of ours. One of Eilistraee's." The half elf mage cleared his throat and recomposed himself, straightening his ruined robes.

"Yes, well," Lathhan muttered, his eyes flashing in brief annoyance, "nice to meet a drow who won't blow me up on sight."

"Charming, this one is." Sab'vrae grinned, sending Nai'lan into another bought of short laughter.

Lathhan rolled his eyes, "Mystra's Weave, why do I tolerate these woods folk?" and produced a small, misty bowl. The wizard set the object on a nearby tree stump and knelt before it, dipping the cloth inside and mumbling arcane verses lowly. A puff of purple smoke erupted from the bowl and vanished soon after. Lathhan scratched his hairless chin, nodding and humming to himself.

"It seems the Cult is indeed near Lurkwood, some miles from this… Hawksburgh you mentioned," the mage noted, closely inspecting his scrying bowl, "Yes, it's in The Crags, closest to the western edge of Lurkwood."

Nai'lan furrowed his dark eyebrows in thought, stroking his narrow chin, "But isn't that a bit far to take unwilling prisoners, if they did indeed capture the villagers?"

"You forget magic gates, my friend." Lathhan smirked, finally showing a flicker of humor in his eyes, "There's a strong concentration of magical energy not even a mile from Hawksburgh."

"Is it a restricted portal?" Olren questioned, to which Lathhan shrugged.

"Considering the Cult of the Dragon is a secret society, more than likely." He answered honestly.

"More importantly, can you access it for us?" Nai'lan pressed his spell casting friend. Lathhan's eyes twinkled in slight mischief.

"Well, why don't we find out for ourselves?" He reached into a sleeve and pulled out a yellow gem, which he tossed into the air. Upon impact with the earth and at Lathhan's command word, the gem glowed and morphed into a tall, wide portal sizable enough to fit an ogre easily. The half elf mage smirked at the surprised spectators, "Well, are we going or not?"

---------

A short while later, Lathhan closely inspected a stone wall, running his slender fingers along the grooves The half elf jabbered to himself, tapping here, knocking there. "They've hidden you quite well, haven't those bastards?" he asked to no one in particular, save perhaps the wall itself. Finally, his head found a well concealed slot. Slipping his fingers inside and chanting in an arcane tongue, Lathhan waved his free hand about in an attempt to open the portal.

Many moments later, a gateway materialized in the stone, revealing the path to a deep cavern. "Hope you brought torches." Lathhan joked. Nai'lan rolled his eyes.

"Everyone here but the humans can use infrared vision, and they've got sun sticks to last them at least a few hours." Sun sticks were small, enchanted artificial sticks that let off a low light when commanded. Each sun stick only lasted for a few hours before burning out permanently. "Think you can summon us back once we're through, Lathhan?"

"I can't promise anything," the young mage sighed, "especially if they're wards on the other side I don't know about. However…" He rummaged through the front of his still charred robes. Retrieving a scroll, he handed the paper to the archdruid. "He's a simple, yet effective, scroll of teleportation. Tell it where you wish to go, and it can send all of you back to the grove safely if you stand close together. Make sure there aren't any enemies close by, though. It can transport them as well."

"I'll keep that in mind, Lathhan," Nai'lan promised, "and thanks for your help."

"Just don't get yourself made into dragon stew and inform me when you've all returned." The hybrid wizard smiled. His archdruid friend laughed and nodded in agreement.

"Well, we should be off then. Ready everyone?" the head druid inquired his companions.

"Er… actually…" Sab'vrae half raised his arm to gain the wood elf's attention, "I have a minor request for Lathhan."

"Yes, what is it?" the half elf raised his blue eyebrows in curiosity.

"It's… these blades." The dark elf unsheathed his simple long swords, "from the looks of it, we may very well face some powerful enemies, and I--"

"--Don't think these will quite 'cut it,' so to speak?" Lathhan quipped, nodding in realization. "Yes, I can enchant your weapons, but, the effect will only last a day or two, at most. If you want something more permanent, you'll have to seek out a talented blacksmith who uses spell bindings in his creations."

"Thank you." Sab'vrae nodded in gratitude, handing the swords to the half elf. Lathhan chanted, running his pale fingers along the flats of the blades. A light blue flame engulfed both weapons. The mage handed the swords back to the drow, satisfied.

"There. I've enspelled them to cut through even the toughest armor, added mild ice damage, and moderate resistance against fire attacks. Figured it would help if you meet another dragon." Lathhan grinned. "Is that sufficient?"

"More than enough, I thank you again." Sab'vrae returned the smile and bowed his head.

"Come, my dark friend." Baelas urged, motioning to the drow, "we need to get moving."

"Coming." Sab'vrae sheathed his temporarily enchanted blades, bid Lathhan farewell, and quickly followed his woodland friends into the portal.

---------

A familiar, though unpleasant, sensation of staled air assaulted the dark elf's lungs upon arrival. He scowled.

"Perhaps not the Underdark," he noted to the druids and rangers, "but certainly deep enough to bring back unpleasant memories." Nai'lan nodded in silent agreement, his eyes already glowing a very faint red. The wood elf had switched to the heat spectrum. His fellows of elven blood followed suit, and the three humans present simply ignited their sun sticks.

"We'll venture as a group now," Nai'lan ordered, slowly stepping down the cavern tunnel, "But if we come to a break in the path, or somewhere our numbers will be noticed, we'll have to split up, probably in groups of two."

"What if we can't find our way back to the others?" Sab'vrae pointed out.

"You know that leaf ring I gave you as an ally of the druids?" the wood elf asked. The dark elf looked down at his finger, examining the simple green, leaf shaped ring around his fourth finger.

"Yes, what of it?"

"All of us grove inhabitants carry one," Nai'lan held up his finger, as did the other druids, "and they're enchanted to track down and 'call to' the other rings when needed."

"I see." Sab'vrae nodding at the useful piece of jewelry, "but what of Olren and Kolgar? They're rangers, not druids. I don't see rings on their hands, either."

"Our necklaces are enspelled in a similar way," the younger ranger explained, pulling out his symbol of Silvanus from under his shirt, "Your rings are also set to trace these, and vise versa, if the need arises."

"Let's hope it doesn't." Rolain sighed, his friends murmuring in agreement. The ten person party continued through the cave in silence, not wishing to attract any unwanted attention. Sab'vrae kept his ears and eyes alert, recalling all of his Underdark survival training. In Barra Velve, all fighters were taught the vital skills of detecting subtle cave echo patterns and slight shifts in heat. Mainly, the drow city valued such skills only for surface raid trips and patrol parties, but Sab'vrae learned that his unique lessons could serve better purposes.

Not surprisingly, the drow detected a shift in the echoes, obviously not a result of his traveling companions. "Hold on. Something's coming." He hissed to the other investigators.

"How can you tell?" Thoila questioned in a hoarse whisper, "Even I can't hear anything."

"Nor can I," Baelas agreed with his fellow faerie elf, "but, Thoila, do consider that our renegade friend here grew up in a world of twisting caverns and underground passages."

"Point taken," the druid/cleric conceded, turning back to Sab'vrae, "what's coming this way?"

"A group of bipedal humanoids, close to our number in size," the drow discerned, straining his exaggerated ears. "They're attempting to use stealth, but I can hear them quite easily, and so shall the rest of you soon, I suspect." The warrior put an ear to the ground and felt the stone floor with his black hands, "Probably humans by the weight and consistency of their footfalls."

Olren nodded in approval. "Ye'd make an excellent ranger, my dark elf friend. Your tracking skills are impressive."

"None the better than any fellow student from The Fighter's Academy," the drow humbly, but truthfully, argued. "Regardless, we should make ourselves as invisible as possible. They'll be here very soon at this pace."

Heeding the dark elf's warning, the druids shapeshifted into bats, fluttering up into the ceiling, clinging to whatever hold they managed to find. Olren and his nephew cast Camouflage spells, blending in with the stone walls quite effectively. Sab'vrae, assured of his companions' safety, levitated himself to the ceiling, clinging to the wall.

__

Too bad I didn't know beforehand we'd be in caves. Otherwise, I'd have brought my piwafwi. He thought ruefully, securing his left foot in a small wall indention. _I have no idea how long the levitation spell will last._ Drow who spent their time on the surface and in the sunlight gradually lost their innate magical abilities, as the source of the magic came from the Underdark. Already, Sab'vrae's globe of darkness lasted half as long as it once did, and his faerie fire -- harmless magical flames meant to outline a concealed enemy or bring light into the area -- glowed dimly each time he cast it.

Sab'vrae removed himself from his thoughts quickly, his sensitive eyes painfully detecting torch light around the next corner. Shifting back into the light spectrum, the drow squinted at the approaching party. True to his predictions, the approaching group were human, all males save for two women. They wore long, blood red concealing robes with the cowls covering their faces. The leader, brandishing a torch, led the band through the tunnel, grumbling at his inferiors as they went.

"Bloody idiot Margon, loosing his damn insignia again! Leaving our sacred symbol out for any infidel to find!" he fumed.

"But Lanon," one of the woman dared to speak, "We charmed each an everyone of those villagers into following us here. Who's there to notice?" The large, torch wielding man turned, eyes flashing angrily.

"Fool!" he snarled, "Do you know nothing! A forest of Lurkwood's size always has at least a grove or two of tree hugging druids and their thrice damned ranger friends! Why do you think we hired that smelly orc Tagdush to ransack the ranger's home and kill him at first chance? We don't need our base discovered by those nature loving pansies!"

Olren wisely withheld a snarl.

"Speaking of Tagdush," another, shorter man broke in, stepping between his temperamental leader and the woman, "We haven't heard from the orc in days. Is that why we're heading out?"

"Aye." The one called Lanon growled, "I'm sure the damned overgrown grunt's gone and gotten his ugly head cleaved off already."

__

Actually, his head's still quite attached. It's his neck that could use some repairing. Sab'vrae thought with a grim mental chuckle. His heart skipped when his levitation spell suddenly gave way. _Dammit! Not now!_ He mentally cursed, clawing at the rocks above him. His right leg swung in the air, his left attempting to maintain the weak foothold it had.

Noticing the suddenly rain of small pebbles, the cult looked up in confusion. Though far up enough to remain in the shadows, Sab'vrae knew his cover was blown. Realizing this, Olren and Kolgar leapt from their positions against the wall, cutting their way into the confused cult members.

"Intruders! Intruders!" Lanon screeched, "Kill them!"

Taking advantage of this diversion, and accepting the fact he'd eventually fall anyway, Sab'vrae leapt from his perch, unsheathing his twin blades. He landed on a startled man's shoulders, sending the unfortunate human stumbling over, unable to support the weight. Cartwheeling off the human before he hit the ground, Sab'vrae face the other remaining mages with his ranger friends.

"Chryammauth's talons!" one alarmed necromancer cursed, "We're being attacked by drow!"

"Then attack it back, you fool!" Lanon snarled, pulling out a mace and charging towards Sab'vrae. A swarm of bats swooped down, fluttering about in his face. The head cult member cursed, swatting at the transfigured druids. "Dammit!"

Sab'vrae blocked a slash from a nasty looking dagger, countering the blow with a quick, clean slice to the chest. His assaulter fell back, ice emitting from the painful fatal wound. Olren and Kolgar carved their way through the other cult members, assisting their dark elven ally in melee combat. Mentally, Sab'vrae congratulated their excellent fighting form. All his life he was taught of the "inferior" abilities of the "lesser" races, including humans. The two rangers, and, unfortunately, some of the cultists, proved quite the contrary.

Ducking a small fireball spell too close for comfort, the drow pushed himself against, then off the stone wall to fling himself at the surprised spell caster. He impaled the necromancer through the ribs, puncturing the stomach. He withdrew his weapons, icy mists billowing from the acid-spilling wound. The human cried out in agony, and, Sab'vrae, in an act of mercy uncharacteristic of his dark elf upbringing, ended the human's life quickly with another stroke of his sword.

__

For the best, indeed. The drow felt, rather than heard, Nai'lan's voice in his head. He quickly glanced in the general direction of the false bat. _He would've lived for many more hours in agony otherwise._

"True enough." Sab'vrae simply retorted with a shrug, "That's why I did it."

__

Just make sure you spare the leader, this… Lanon? We might be able to extract more information from him, whether by his choice or Thoila's talent of… persuasion. The archdruid referred to the moon elf's clerical abilities of the mind.

The drow nodded, returning into the fray, parrying and countering all attacks. Olren and his nephew skillfully felled four mages swiftly. The remaining three necromancers wove their fingers in the makings of a spell. Quickly, Sab'vrae thrust his arm out, casting a globe of darkness over the evil mages. Ceasing their spell binding, the necromancers cried out in surprise. Olren and Kolgar dove in, their blades cutting through the impenetrable darkness.

"Mind the leader! He's mine!" Sab'vrae called to the rangers, swords at the ready. Hearing this, Lanon backed out from the globe, leaving his comrades to die. Anticipating this move, Sab'vrae dove down, feet first, sliding across the stone ground and slamming into the human mage's ankles. Lanon, balance lost, toppled over, the drow upon him before he could cast any defensive spells.

Sab'vrae slammed the hilt of his sword into the human's face, spattering his nose. Pain shot through the cultist's skull before his world fell into the shadowy veil of unconsciousness.

---------

Feeling as though dwarven smiths pounded against his brain with mythril hammers, the cult group leader awoke sometime later with a loud groan. His vision slowly coming back into focus, Lanon moved his hand to hold his head, only to find it tightly bound behind his back. Blinking rapidly to remove the grogginess from his eyes, the necromancer took in his surroundings. A crowd of ten encircled the tied mage, most of them elven -- including that damnable drow -- two merely half elven, and three fellow humans. The bald, tattooed cultist scowled at his captors.

"Chryammauth devour you all, especially you black fey demon!" he spat. The insult rolled off Sab'vrae as a pebble does down a ravine.

"Well, at least we know the dragon's name." The dark elf commented dryly.

"Yes, but a more important question: is this Chryammauth a dracolich yet?" Nai'lan questioned the human prisoner bluntly.

"Chryammauth will devour you all in his undead glory." Lanon sneered.

"He's lying." Thoila stated. A dark flicker in the necromancer's eyes supported her claim.

"So, that's probably partly why Hawksburgh is empty," Kolgar surmised, "they need the villagers as part of the sacrifices in the ritual to transform this evil wyrm."

Lanon merely snorted through his broken nose in response, neither confirming or denying the hypothesis. Still, the young ranger's conclusion made plenty of sense, and his comrades nodded in agreement.

"Where are the villagers now? They must be alive before you sacrifice them." Rolain demanded gruffly. Lanon spat in the elder man's eye in replication. The druid wiped the slime from his face, glaring dangerously at the mage. Before he could react verbally or physically, Sab'vrae walked between the two human men, pushing Rolain aside. His eyes flashed red, glowing in heat. The drow could see well enough in the low light, but he found his glowing crimson eyes had an effective intimidation factor. He clamped his dark fingers around the man's jaw, squeezing the cheeks in harshly.

"I shattered your nose quite easily," the dark elf snarled dangerously, malice gleaming in his blue-red eyes, "would you like to see what else I can do? Would gladly do? Death can be dealt so slowly and painfully, you know. After all, we drow are masters at torturing others. How does pumping magical acid into your stomach sound? I can heal you, repeat the process over and over, for years." He grinned in sadistic mirth. Lanon's arrogant, silent façade bubbled away, his gray eyes bulging from his head.

"D-down the cavern, on the third path to the left," he babbled, trying to avoid eye contact with Sab'vrae and failing, "T-there's a m-magically warded door at the end. Can't get in if you're not a cult member."

Sab'vrae ran his blade lightly against the cultist's neck, hard enough to apply an uncomfortable pressure, yet not hard enough to penetrate the skin. "Perhaps it just needs a little of cult blood to convince it. I am a master of slowly drawing blood from the veins, you know. It'll take days before death finally embraces you." The dark elf pushed the man's chin back with the tip of his sword, a small trickle of blood running down the human's neck.

"A crest!" Lanon yelped, eyeing the weapon with fearful eyes, "You can pass the door with a Cult crest! My necklace serves as my passage, take it!" Sab'vrae leaned in close to the human, eye to eye and an inch apart from each other.

"Many thanks." The drow hissed, ripping the jewelry from the cultist's neck. He smirked, slamming his two blade hilts into Lanon's temples simultaneously. The human necromancer slumped, unconscious once more. Sab'vrae tossed the magical key to a startled Nai'lan.

"You wouldn't have tormented that man." The wood elf archdruid half stated, half asked. Sab'vrae twirled his blades and sheathed them with a shrug.

"I know that," he replied, and added with a mischievous smirk, "he didn't."


	20. Chapter 19

****

Chapter 19

The ten person band proceeded down the hallway once more, ensuring Lanon's place as prisoner with a potent sleep spell. When they returned, they would turn in the cultist to the proper authorities. At the moment, finding the missing villagers was most prudent.

Soon, just as the necromancer had predicted, the allies came upon a multi split in the path.

"Just in case the man was lying, we'll split up down the five passageways." Nai'lan decided after a brief moment of contemplation. "Rolain, Elari, take the first cave on the left. Cael'brar, Fiyn -- the second. Olren and Kolgar take the fourth, Baelas and Thoila the fifth, and Sab'vrae and myself will travel the center road."

"Right-o, chief!" Rolain grinned, giving his leader a mock salute. He headed down the leftmost cave with his fey spouse, soon disappearing into the shadows. The others spilt off similarly, and Sab'vrae found himself following his wood elf friend down the center road.

"Why'd you pick me to accompany you?" He asked curiously.

"Are you complaining?" Nai'lan countered in mock irritation.

"Not at all. Just a drow who likes to sate his nosy interests." Sab'vrae commented with a toothy grin.

"Well, I will admit that you and Baelas are becoming quite the team. However, he's had the most experience working with Thoila, as have the other pairs become well-attuned to working with each other," Nai'lan explained, "They'll fend for themselves just fine if they run into trouble. And, since the center path is most likely the deadliest one, I figured your superior cave tracking skills and dark vision would come quite in handy."

"Thanks, but…" Sab'vrae raised an eyebrow, "Why do you believe this way's the most dangerous?"

"Because the cultist pointed us here." Nai'lan stated simply. Sab'vrae chuckled humorlessly in agreement.

---------

The half elven siblings walked down the caverns in utter silence. Fraternal twins, Cael'brar and Fiyn shared a bond deeper than most siblings, and had long since achieved a level of wordless communication. Their movements, skills and thoughts complimented one another, making the family duo a most formidable pair. Cael'brar kept his fingers and lips readied for a spell while his sister's hand hovered over her short bow, ready to attack at any sign of a threat.

A shift in the shadows caught the half elf druids' attention. Muttering an incantation under his breath, Cael'brar tossed a small pebbled out, aiming his spell on the object. The pebble emitted a bright glow in a radius of some thirty feet. Blinded by the unexpected light, the pale creature hissed, covering its eyes.

Drawing her bow with due speed, Fiyn launched a succession of three arrows in the air, impaling the monster's torso. Cautiously, the female half sun elf approached the injured creature. She recoiled in disgust.

"A Curst." She hissed.

Needing no more explanation, Cael'brar spread his arms out wide, chanting rapidly in the druidic tongue. A beam of light as intense as the sun engulfed the vampire, who shrieked in agony and withered into ashes. Squinting as the Sunburst spell dimmed away, the hybrid siblings continued on their way, keeping their ears and eyes alert.

---------

True to the wood elf's estimate, the pair found their passage littered with various traps and minor ambushes. However, caves were Sab'vrae's home terrain, and the drow easily detected trap triggers and ambush points long before the defensive measures caused any real danger. Finally, the archdruid and fighter came upon a large stone door, the Cult of the Dragon insignia engraved on the center. Pulling out his tattered crest, Sab'vrae held the symbol in front of the doorway. Nothing happened.

Thinking for a moment, the dark elf spoke, " Chryammauth." Still, nothing.

Catching on to his friend's attempt, Nai'lan made his own suggestions. "For the reign of dragons. Chryammauth the Mighty. Uh… open up?"

Once again, nothing. Sab'vrae furrowed his eyebrows in thought, as did his lighter skinned companion.

"By Chryammauth's talons, open." The wood elf archdruid commanded. At this, the stone entry burst into flames, swinging open. The magical fire licked at the door a moment longer, then vanished.

"Huh. What do you know. A curse opens up new entryways." Sab'vrae mused, carefully stepping inside, Nai'lan at his heels. The door swung closed behind the brown elf, but the duo relaxed when they discovered their key and command worked from the inside as well. Their eyes glowing in the dimly lit cave, the two elves examined the room.

"Gods help us, the damned dragon worshippers have sent a drow to torment us!" Sab'vrae snapped his head in the direction of the groaning man's voice. Casting a faerie fire enchantment to his left, the drow soon noticed the myriad of cages, all filled with human peasants and merchants. Apparently, the crude prison cells were enspelled to prevent heat detection. The dark elf approached the bars, the nearest humans skittering back as far as their limited space allowed them.

"Back, you pointy eared demon!" one teenaged male stuttered, "We won't yield to your wicked tormenting schemes!"

"Who said anything about me torturing innocent villagers?" Sab'vrae asked earnestly. Many of the peasants shuffled in surprised when the black elf spoke in Common, not Drow.

"Quite the contrary. We're here to rescue you." Nai'lan stepped up behind the dark elf, though few of the humans relaxed. "We're allies of Olren and Kolgar. You needn't fear us."

"What's the honest ranger doing, associating with a deep elf?" one woman scowled.

"Charmed to meet you all, too." Sab'vrae muttered. "Look, I'm not going to try to explain myself now -- time's not a good factor for us at the moment -- but I ask you all this: Would you rather risk freedom at the hands of one drow, or stay here and face the hungry maw of a large dragon, especially if he becomes a lich?"

The villagers fell silent, then grudgingly conceded to the point.

"Is anyone missing?" The archdruid asked the villagers, examining the crowd in the cells.

"Those horrid cultists dragged off my boy before you two came!" one woman wailed.

"How long ago?" the wood elf asked urgently, eyes wide in fear for the human child.

"No more than a half hour, perhaps. Maybe two hours or more. We don't have any way to track time down here." A middle aged man grumbled, "But it wasn't too long ago."

"We'll find him, ma'am, I promise on my word as a fighter." Sab'vrae vowed to the distressed mother gently. The human's eyes glared at him through stinging tears.

"Don't you go near my son!" she shrieked, "Gods know what awful things you damn black elf can do to my little boy!" Sab'vrae stepped back, stung by her words, but also understanding her outburst was only partially from ignorance -- here on the surface, families were often close; he learned that much from Rolain and Elari's over protectiveness towards their adult offspring.

A fairly young man, probably the distressed mother's husband, held the crying woman comfortingly, his gaze softer at the drow, but still holding a flicker of biased dislike. Sab'vrae sighed, knowing this probably wouldn't be the last time he met prejudice on the surface.

"How do these things unlock?" Nai'lan grumbled, pounding away at the door's padlock with his oak cudgel.

"It's warded against simple spell and lock picks," an elderly woman sighed, "though I never saw our captors use a physical key on it."

"Dammit." The wood elf cursed, futilely pounding on the lock again. Sab'vrae gently pushed the archdruid aside.

"Let me try." He offered. Holding up the Cult insignia once more, he declared, "By Chryammauth's talons, open." The padlock twisted open and fell to the floor with a loud thump. Gaping mouthed villagers stared at the now open bar door. Nai'lan too gawked at his dark elf ally incredulously.

"How did you…?" he sputtered. Sab'vrae laughed, patting his fellow elven friend on the back.

"Sometimes, it seems, you surfacers lack creativity in your security wards."

---------

Olren felt the warmth against his chest before he saw his Silvanus necklace glow a dull white. He fingered the jewelry depicting his god and turned to his nephew, noting his too, emitted a low glow.

"By Silvanus' horns," Kolgar muttered, "You think they're in trouble?"

"Either tha', or they've foun' th' villagers. Let's go, my boy." The elder ranger urged, leading his kin back down towards where the tunnels connected.

The druids took note of their flashing rings, a sign of Nai'lan calling for aid. Most traveled back from their paths to meet at the split in the trail. Sab'vrae and Nai'lan were waiting patiently, checking on the condition of the villagers, when the elves and humans showed themselves.

After a short bout of confusion, the rescuers managed to quiet their refugees, when Rolain made an alarming observation.

"Where are Cael'brar and Fiyn?" the human druid asked with trepidation, exchanging a worried look with his wife.

"I'll look for them." Sab'vrae volunteered, "You guys try to find an exit."

"Is it wise to go on your own?" Baelas asked his drow friend, slightly worried. Sab'vrae smiled half heartedly.

"I spent fifty years in the Underdark," he reminded the sun elf, "Caves are to me as the woods are to you and the grove. It'll be easier for me to find my way back on my own than you guys, and you'll already have your hands full managing the villagers. Besides, they'll probably relax more when the 'damnable drow's' not around."

"Why I ought to give them a long speech about drow!" Baelas huffed. Sab'vrae laughed.

"Do you remember _your_ initial reaction to me, my friend?" the dark elf asked, his eyes aglow in mirth. Embarrassment flushed the sun elf's cheeks.

"Point taken." He admitted. "Well, good luck, then. Once we find an exit, we'll probably summon Lathhan to send us back to Lurkwood."

"And the cult and their dragon?"

"The villagers are most important. If we run into any cultists, or, Rillifane forbid, the dragon, we'll fight. If not, we can also send word to the Harpers. They can handle the rest of the situation." Baelas explained, and Sab'vrae nodded in understanding. Harpers were a semi secret organization of firm believers in the balance between civilization and nature (much like druids), and the good of humankind and its allies. Hated enemies of the Cult of the Dragon, Harpers would gladly jump at any opportunity to remove even a small base of the evil dragon worshippers.

"Eilistraee and Rillifane guard your steps, my friend." Sab'vrae waved to his fellow elf and dashed silently down the second tunnel.

---------

Cael'brar and Fiyn had sensed their leader's calling, but reluctantly chose to ignore it, more concerned with what lay at the edge of their road after the encounter with the vampire. At the end of their path, the sibling duo had found another, but smaller, hallway. Three doors adorned this smaller chamber. The first shed new light on where the Curst had come from: ancient crypts engraved in sinister scripts littered the ground, and the damp air reeked of blood and decaying flesh. One coffin lid lay askew, the contents below it empty.

"Probably the vampire we encountered." Cael'brar noted grimly.

"Most likely," his older sister agreed, "but why are the others closed?"

As if in response, the dozen stone caskets slid slowly open, their occupants stepping out and eyeing the intruders hungrily.

"Ah, more sacrifices for Chryammauth?" one buxom female Curst asked, running her tongue along her lips.

"Chryammauth's got an entire village worth of sacrifices for his ceremony," a slim male hissed, "not to mention the little boy to begin the ritual. I say we, his loyal undead servants, deserve an extra meal before our master becomes a dracolich." He grinned, revealing his long, pointed fangs. The twelve vampires closed in on the brother and sister team, their mouths practically watering.

"Cast Sunburst again!" Fiyn whispered frantically to her brother.

"I can't, you know that!" he hissed back, "I don't have the power to cast that spell again today, and you can't spells of that magnitude at all."

"I _knew_ I should've spent more time fine-tuning my magic!" the sister moaned.

"Mm. Half elven, I see." The same comely female Curst had reached the pair, running a long finger along Cael'brar's neck. "Exotic and sweet. A rare treat." She opened her mouth, her fangs extending out and towards the male's jugular. Instead of a sweet drink, however, the vampire shrieked in pain, flailing back. A glowing blue sword penetrated through her stomach. Cursing, the vampire exploded into an ashy mist, hovering back to her coffin. Far from dead, the Curst merely went to regenerate. Still, such a feat would add valuable time. The saving sword clattered to the stone ground, sending the remaining vampires scampering back a few feet.

Rolain and Elari's spawn looked up towards the entrance eyes glowing in infrared vision. They identified the mass of heat at the door as Sab'vrae. Recovering from their initial shock, the Curst snarled and hovered towards the drow.

"Sab'vrae!" Cael'brar shouted, swiftly picking up the fallen blade and throwing it back towards its owner. Already parrying and countering the vampire's thrusts, the dark elf deftly snatched the sword from the air by its hilt, instantly bringing it into play with its brother with a twist of his body and arms. He cleaved body parts from the vampires, returning them temporarily to dust.

Recovering from their temporary bout of fear now that another ally had entered the fray, Fiyn and Cael'brar entered the fray, the brother casting minor spells while his sister rapidly fired her short bow's ammunition. Once the trio sent all the vampires back to their tombs, Sab'vrae immediately ran over to a crypt and slowly slid its lid back into place.

"Hurry! Cover the other ones! It only take a few minutes for a Curst to respawn!" The half elves hastily aided the drow in the job and fled from the room, slamming the door shut. All three panted from their efforts and the decline after an adrenaline rush.

"You have anything to seal the room off with?" Sab'vrae asked Cael'brar, who considered the query for a long moment.

"Actually, I think I might," the half elf male decided, "Stand back." His sister and the dark elf complied, walking a few paces behind the spell casting druid.

"Wall of stone!" Cael'brar declared in the Druidic tongue. Raising his arms wide, the young druid created a large slab of stone that erupted from the earth. Moving his arms about, Cael'brar shaped the magical rock, using it to completely seal off the vampire's crypt entrance." The man heaved a sigh, staggering backwards. Fiyn ran to him and caught her younger brother just as he began to fall.

"Are you guys all right?" Sab'vrae asked with concern, approaching the siblings.

"I'm fine, just a bit drained from the high level spell casting," Cael'brar assured, inhaling and exhaling deeply, "Just give me a moment to recover." The dark elf nodded, looking about the small hallway.

"Did you guys discover what's beyond the other doors?" he inquired. Fiyn shook her head.

"No, we looked at the crypt first, which turned out to be a mistake." She snorted. "Still… one of the vampires mentioned a boy about to be used as a sacrifice. Did you guys find him?"

"No, but we found the other villagers," Sab'vrae sighed, inspecting one of the remaining doors closely. "His mother's worried sick, though, and I don't blame her. Perhaps Nai'lan and the others found him on their way to find an exit."

"The others are leaving?" Cael'brar, having regain his stamina, stood. "Then I suppose we should follow them, right?" Sab'vrae narrowed his eyes at the small crack separating the door from its frame.

"You two can head back -- they didn't leave that long ago, so you should find them on the path we encountered the cultists on. If you get lost, I'm sure you can use your druid rings to aid you. Me, I want to investigate these passages a little bit further. I'd like to stop as many of these mad dragon worshipping mages as possible." He mashed his long ear against the first door, frowning. He repeated the same process with the last door, tapping it lightly with his knuckles before nodding contently, straightening himself.

"We're going with you then." Fiyn concluded. Sab'vrae raised his white eyebrows and the female half elf added, "More power in numbers. Besides, though my parents might not be thrilled at the thought of Cael'brar and myself fighting a group of necromancers or even a dragon without them, we're full grown adults now and the choice is ours. Besides, I think in the end even they would agree on aiding a friend in a perilous venture." She grinned impishly with her brother. Sab'vrae laughed softly, returning the smile.

"Very well, then. Into the dragon's lair, so to speak." He half joked, pulling open the wooden door and, to his little surprise, revealing another passage.

"Hopefully not," Cael'brar shivered at the thought, "I've never faced one, and I'd rather not without my spells fully prepared."

"Well, as long as we find something of significance, I'm satisfied." Sab'vrae retorted, scanning the walls and floors for any possible dangers.

"So am I, so long as it dies easily." Fiyn smirked.


	21. Chapter 20

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Chapter 20

Chryammauth stirred from his slumber, feeling a slight poking on his thick, red hide. Opening a large eye, the dragon resisted the strong urge to devour the incompetent who dared to wake him, "What do you want?"

Instinctively, the human necromancer backed away from the large yellow eye examining him. "My master, Great Chryammauth. We've nearly completed our preparations to immortalize you."

His interest piqued tenfold, the great crimson wyrm lifted his giant head. "Excellent. The high priests are prepared?"

"Most of them," the messenger noted, "Lanon and his group were sent to summon Ailard, but they have yet to return. Our alarm systems remain intact, so it's quite possible they simply lost their way in the many tunnels and passages."

Chryammauth snorted, "Either that or we've got some stealthy intruders. No matter, in either case. I only need all the priest for the second phase. What of the first phase's arrangement?" The dragon's human servant grinned wickedly.

"We picked a boy from the cluster of Hawksburgh's villagers. No more than three or four winters old, I'd wager. Perfectly innocent and ignorant of his world. He's quite terrified in his solitary cell at the moment."

"A perfect candidate. Well done, Halarth." Chryammauth slowly rose, rumbling the earth below him as the dragon reached his full seventy foot height. The red wyrm stretched and yawned, his deep roar rebounding off the cavern walls. Loose pebbles crumbled from their perches and tumbled down the walls. "Fetch the human child and ready everything. I'm getting hungry anyway."

---------

The grove trio skulked silently through the passageway, avoiding traps and magical wards whenever possible. The tunnel twisted and turned every few feet, almost to a dizzying effect.

__

Good way to thwart invaders. Sab'vrae noted, listening for any odd echo patterns. The task proved difficult, as his hearing picked up the twins' noise above all else. By surface standards, Cael'brar and Fiyn moved as the shadows, but to the drow's well trained ears, they might as well traveled with bells attached to their boots. He sighed in slight irritation. _How far does this path lead?_

Suddenly, the three trespassers felt the ground rumble and heard the distant yawn of a great dragon.

"…Okay, so we know the dragon's close. Perhaps we should go back and let the Harpers or some other organization finish this." Cael'brar suggested, only partially from fear.

"We'd probably waste our lives trying to fight such a beast on our own." Fiyn agreed, seeing his logic, "We don't need to cause our family such unnecessary pain. The group probably needs us more."

"You have a point." Sab'vrae sighed, conceding. "Let's head back. We're wasting too much time, and we're not finding anything." The trio turned around and began to venture back. A distant, but distinct echo hit the dark elf's ears. The cry of a young child. He sighed again, turning his head in the sound of the direction.

"Sab'vrae?" The half elven druids halted their gait, looking at their unusual companion.

"Continue on to your parents and the others, you two." Sab'vrae urged them, "I think I heard the missing boy. I won't need your help for that, and, as you said, the others need you more. Go on, just tell them I'll be along soon."

Reluctantly, the younger adventurers agreed. "Watch your steps."

"As should you. Safe journey back." Sab'vrae warned the pair before heading back down the winding tunnel. Surprisingly, after only a few yards around corners, the drow reached the end of the path. He found not a door, but a portal. Cautiously, he examined the magic gate, noting the lone cell on the other end. The child's cries entered his ears again, and, deciding to take the risk, Sab'vrae leapt into the portal.

---------

Morand backed away from the necromancer, screaming in terror. Enchanted into entering the Dragon Cult base a few days ago -- along with the rest of Hawksburgh -- the four-year-old boy found himself torn from his parents and placed in the dank, lonely prison. Cold and alone for at least a day, the lad thought he'd welcome any sort of company, but quickly changed heart at the sight of the tattooed and snarling man before him.

"Shut up, kid!" the cult mage growled, hefting the boy into the air by the scruff of his coarse tunic. "We need you for an important ceremony. Quit your squealing!"

Paying the villain no heed, Morand kicked and screamed, struggling with his captor.

"Little brat!" the man scowled, raising a club to beat the child. Something halted his swing, however. Twisting his head around in confusion, the cultist noticed a black hand grasping his bludgeon before a second hand slammed into his face, sending the necromancer spiraling into darkness. The mage slumped to the ground, Morand landing next to his unconscious form.

Perplexed, the child raised his head at his rescuer. At the sight of a caped drow, he let out one more scream of fear, scrambling back.

"Evil elf! Droh!" he whimpered. Obviously, the young human already heard horror stories of the subterranean elves. Kneeling before the terrorized child, Sab'vrae smiled gently.

"No, I'm a 'good elf,' lad," the dark elf assured softly, "And it's pronounced, 'drow.'" He added, blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"But black elves evil." The boy protest, though his body began to relax.

"Many are, yes," Sab'vrae admitted, "but I'm a special 'black elf.' Only here to help you and your village. Do you want to see your mother again?"

Morand nodded vigorously.

"I can take you to her, safe and sound. You just have to trust me." The fighter elf promised. Still slightly skeptical, the boy eyed his odd liberator cautiously. Finally, he relented, stumbling over to the drow. Taking the hint, Sab'vrae picked up the child in his arms, finding the young human quite light.

He turned back to the portal where he'd entered and cursed in Drow. Nothing remained but a stone wall. A one-way portal, probably meant to imprison fools like himself. Fortunately, the only exit, the cell door, remained opened from the necromancer's entrance. Sab'vrae placed the boy on the ground again, gesturing for Morand to wait a moment.

Dragging the stunned mage over to the back wall, Sab'vrae shackled the necromancer firmly in place. As a forethought, the drow tore a long strip from the wizard's robes, stuffing it in a firm ball inside the human's mouth as a makeshift gag. A temporary hold, but long enough to at least give him a head start. The dark elf turned back to the boy, hefting the child into his arms.

"Hush, we don't want to attract guards." Sab'vrae warned in a whisper. Morand nodded in understanding, clinging to the drow's shirt. Holding the boy in one arm, the dark elf used his free hand to unsheathe his weapon, holding the sword tightly in his grasp.

A few guards and mages detected the intruder's presence, but Sab'vrae swiftly cut them down before they could shout or otherwise activate a wide-scale alarm. A faint, but noticeable shift in the air quality and temperature caught the drow's attention. He pressed on, human in arm, knowing the surface was only a few hundred yards above, at most.

---------

Chryammauth paced impatiently in his lair. What was it with the stupid humans and delays? His stomach rumbled for meat, and his mind for the approachable goal of lichdom.

"I want that child! Where is it?" the red dragon snarled. His golden eyes caught a flicker of movement in the corner. Spotting the drow and his human passenger, the wyrm roared in fury, flames forming in his snout.

Sab'vrae cursed again, well aware of the red dragon and its anger. Still, he continued to run through in front of the wyrm, spotting the exit on the opposite side. His booted feet flew over the rocky terrain, closing in on his freedom.

Glancing back, the drow's light eyes widened in fear, as did Morgan's. A huge ball of flame rushed towards them, too quickly for escape. Knowing no other defense, Sab'vrae sheathed his blade and yanked his cowl over his head, falling to his knees. He pulled the child down and engulfed the human in a protective hug. The drow threw his cape around his body and the child, completely concealing Morand. His fingers gripped his sword's hilt just before the dragon flames swept over them.

Chryammauth sneered in triumph, then choked the chortled back down his scaly throat. Singed and smoking, but otherwise unharmed, the drow carried the boy out the exit and up the inclining path. The crimson dragon thundered across his lair in two quick strides, growling in frustration when he realized the passage was far too small to accommodate him. He stuck his great head inside, the only part he could fit, and inhaled deeply.

Detecting the suddenly rise in temperature once more, Sab'vrae dashed towards the light ahead, his legs screaming in white hot pain. The drow ran out the exit and rolled to the right, a huge spat of fire erupting from the exit after him. The drow panted, slightly burnt and exhausted. Silently, he thanked Lathhan for his fire resistance enchantment. He looked down at his cohort.

"You okay, little one?" he asked softly. Morand scowled briefly in protest to the "little" claim, but nodded, showing the drow his dirty, but unharmed arms.

"Where's Mommy?" the child inquired. Sab'vrae hummed to himself in thought, searching the ridge below him. To his relief, he spotted Nai'lan and the grove with the villagers some hundred yards below in the meadows.

"Come, they're down there. I can reach them quickly." Holding the boy close in his left arm, Sab'vrae levitated down the slope, keeping his right hand close to the rocks in case his spell wore off too soon.

The levitation enchantment did end after a brief period, but only when the drow's feet were mere inches from the grass. Eyes widening with glee, Morand leapt from Sab'vrae's arms, dashing towards the crowd.

"Mommy! Mommy!" he cried over the noise.

"Morand!" The young woman pushed through the crowd and sprinted to her son, scooping the lad into her eager arms. She hugged her offspring close, crying from a storm of emotions, mainly joy and relief. "Thank the gods you're safe!"

"The good black elf save me, mommy!" Morand exclaimed happily, pointing to the calmly approaching Sab'vrae. His mother waited until the drow paused a yard or two away from them.

"I… I'm sorry for my cruel words earlier." She apologized, her cheeks reddening in abashment. "I shouldn't let stereotypes and my ignorance judge you unfairly. Sab'vrae smiled sincerely at the human.

"It is a fact of life I will have to accept, now that I live above. Your fears are well founded, unfortunately. However, there are few others like me, and we're used to being renegades."

"If I ever meet a drow again, I pray they're like you, good elf." The mother nuzzled her child's cheek, eternally grateful to this outcast dark elf.

Sab'vrae merely chuckled in response.

---------

Lathhan answered Nai'lan's summons quickly, and before sunset, Hawksburgh's population returned, and the others to the forest. The mage promised to send word to the Harpers upon returning home. He knew agents close by who could finish off the Cult's base before they had a chance to retaliate.

"Excellent service to Nature and her children today, my ebony friend." The wood elf archdruid congratulated Sab'vrae that evening. The drow looked up at the waning moon, nodding with a small smile.

"Nai'lan, I think I've reached a conclusion long in the pondering." Sab'vrae told the tan elf.

"Oh?" Nai'lan simply quipped.

"I've decided I'd like to become a druid. Would you accept me as a student in Nature?"

The wood elf's grin nearly spread to his ears, "I would be honored to educate you in the Balance and our ancient ways. But, I must know… what made you finally decide on the matter?"

"Though our little adventure in the caves today sated my appetite for some action, it reminded me how dear this land's already become to me. I want to be able to defend this land against any harm that might come to it, and to understand this world better. After all, it's my home now." Sab'vrae grinned at Nai'lan, who returned it in kind.

"A most admirable notion, my friend." He clapped a hand on the drow's shoulder. "I'll begin your lessons tomorrow, at dawn."

"Well, there is one more thing I'd like to say, Nai'lan…" the dark elf male trailed.

"Yes…?" the archdruid motioned for his companion to continue. Sab'vrae pulled his swords partially out from their sheaths, calling attention to the weapons.

"I honestly wish to learn your ways, but… I also refuse to denounce my fighter roots. I have no qualms against wearing nonmetal and heavy armor -- indeed, my skill thrives on finesse -- but I will always fight by blades as first choice." Sab'vrae stated grimly. Nai'lan rubbed his hairless chin, nodding slowly.

"Are you willing to accept the restrictions such a choice ensues?" he asked. "You won't be able to cast as many spells, or as often as other druids."

"These, I can accept." Sab'vrae promised.

"Then, sleep with ease, brother druid." Nai'lan smiled. Sab'vrae chuckled.

"I could get used to that title."


	22. Chapter 21

****

Chapter 21

Sab'vrae pulled his black cloak about himself, shivering slightly. Wisps of frozen breath escaped his chapped lips and into the winter air. The cloudy sky lowered the sun's intensity, a fact Sab'vrae truly appreciated. Even after a decade on the surface, the bright star hurt his eyes, but not nearly as badly as it once did. The drow druid scanned the snow capped terrain, on alert for any possible threats to nearby villages or Lurkwood itself.

A few years ago, Kedaltol, a small town some dozen miles southwest of Hawksburgh, suffered from a hobgoblin raid. The dark elf helped Olren and Baelas get the village back on their feet afterwards, and after seeing what the monsters had caused, promised to double his efforts to prevent such disasters in the area.

A streak of color against the white snow caught Sab'vrae's attention. His hands flew to his hilts, and he quickly unsheathed his blades. He relaxed when he realized the creature in the distance was only a black bear. Unless under control from a wizard or druid, such animals tended to stay away from large communities of people.

The dark elf sheathed his long swords, once again impressed at their quality. Many winters ago, Sab'vrae returned his lent swords and now used the weapons that looked identical to his original Underdark ones. Even the black cloak covering his chilled body resembled his old piwafwi. The drow druid grinned, knowing all too well the truth behind these fully functional items. Lathhan himself wove a new cloak and enspelled it with the same abilities as Sab'vrae's piwafwi.

Then, not long after the grove's rescue of Hawksburgh's citizens, Baelas had invited an old friends of his -- Sourin, a talented dwarven blacksmith. Even after nine or so years, Sab'vrae easily recalled the day the shield dwarf aided him in his need of better weapons, much like his old swords.

---------

"And ye say these are of Underdark make?" Sourin inquired through his golden beard, carefully inspecting Nath'olin's old blade. Sab'vrae nodded.

"Their magic will die out if left in the sunlight too long. For these reason, I've kept them indoors and out of the light. Nevertheless, since they're cut off from their original magic source, even if I keep them in the dark, they'll slowly lose their enchantments. Think you can remedy this?"

"Well, the skill and power required to alter these weapons' magic source is rare and expensive, not to mention risky." The burly dwarf flicked a stubby finger against the blade, testing its quality. He nodded in approval at the responding clang. "However, me dark lad," the blacksmith continued, "I can create exact replicas with enchantments intact. Since the magic source won't come from the Underdark, ye kin use 'em just fine up here."

"You can?" the dark elf asked enthusiastically, "How much will it cost?" Sourin roared with laughter, thumping the drow on his back jovially.

"Normally, lad?" He asked, grinning widely, "Quite a small fortune. However, I have enough spare materials to create yer two swords without much expense on my behalf. That, and I owe that damn sun elf a favor. He's decided if I kin make ye yer blades surface friendly, it'll make us even." Sab'vrae chuckled, knowing the shield dwarf's unusual kinship with Baelas. Normally, elves and dwarves didn't get along -- probably due to their vast differences in their views on life -- but the druid and blacksmith had no problems befriending each other.

"Now, I'll have to take these with me, lad," Sourin scooped up the drow's swords, "but I kin return 'em if ye want afterwards." Sab'vrae contemplated the choice, then nodded slowly.

"Yes, I'd like them back for… sentimental reasons, I suppose." He decided. "How long will it take to craft new ones?" The dwarven blacksmith shrugged.

"I'll make them first priority and finish 'em soon as I kin," Sourin promised, "but I do have a shop to maintain, and I value quality over quantity, so it'll probably be at least a week or so." Sab'vrae nodded.

"Take your time, and thanks for your aid, my gruff friend." The dark elf druid grinned. Sourin waved his hand in dismissal.

"Bah! It's nothing."

---------

Sab'vrae grinned, the memory of the day long past brushing through his mind. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree he perched in high above the ground. Brushing his snowy locks out of his blue eyes, the drow then recollected when Maramitore, the elven priestess of Eilistraee Baelas knew, came to the grove some time after Sourin finished Sab'vrae's new blades.

---------

Baelas hugged the blonde haired sun elf in greeting. "Good to see you again, Maramitore." The druid grinned. Eilistraee's priestess returned the smile in kind.

"Same to you, my nature friend." She laughed, "Though, I must inquire as to why you called me so suddenly from my duties in Silverymoon." Silverymoon was a city based on the principles and ideals of tolerance and complete equality to all races and genders in Toril.

"Well, I was hoping you could assist a friend of mine," Baelas began, motioning for Sab'vrae to approach, "And even if you can't, I am sure he would love to make your acquaintance."

Maramitore's eyes widened in surprise upon spotting Sab'vrae. She noted the necklace of Eilistraee around his neck -- an item the drow purposely wore above his clothes on this day.

"Greetings, brother," the elf smiled kindly, "I never thought I would find one of The Dark Maiden's sons here in Lurkwood." Sab'vrae chuckled.

"Neither did Baelas, at first." He said, shooting the sun elf male a teasing grin. Baelas rolled his eyes, his cheeks red in remembrance of his first encounter with the drow fighter. "Anyway, a talented dwarven smith recently made surface friendly replicas of my old Underdark swords. One already has many useful enchantments, but this one," he unsheathed his simpler sword and held it out to the priestess, "is rather basic aside from magically enhanced keenness and slashing ability."

Maramitore carefully held the long sword in her elegant hands, "Yes, it is a nice weapon. The Dark Maiden would approve." Eilistraee's favored weapon was the long sword. "What do you wish me to do with it?"

"Well…" Sab'vrae hesitated, "Forgive me if such a request is arrogant of me, but… I was hoping you could bestow our goddess' blessing upon the blade. I may be a druid in training who also venerates Rillifane, but I wish to show my first and foremost devotion to Eilistraee."

"I see," the priestess nodded, "and I can try, but it will only work if you hold Her favor." The sun elf woman placed the sword on a tree stump and began to sing and dance -- favored forms of prayer to the goodly drow deity. Maramitore wove her arms and fingers about, chanting in a softer, gentler dialect of Drow than Sab'vrae was accustomed to. A faint white glow radiated from the blade, gradually increasing in intensity until it matched the radiant gleam of its twin sword's red glow.

Finishing her ritual, Maramitore picked up the sword, handing it back to its owner. "It seems The Dark Maiden is quite pleased with you, Sab'vrae." Smiling widely, the drow ran his fingers along the hammered metal.

"Do you know what kind of enchantments it has now?" he asked in awe.

"That, you'll have to discover on your own," the priestess answered, "but, know that as long as you are live by Eilistraee's teachings, the enchantments will stay. No dispelling effect will quell it." Sab'vrae bowed in gratitude, thanking the cleric profoundly.

"I intend to live the rest of my life, long or short as it may be, by my Lady's lessons of benevolence." The dark elf promised.

---------

Sab'vrae sighed, fingering the hilt of the sword he'd since titled, "Eilistraee's Smite." Its partner, replica of his father's blade, he deemed "Demon Slayer" after he discovered it proved quite capable in the task. Seven years ago, a Ghour -- a minotaur like demon -- caused chaos in Lurkwood and the few villages bordering it. Sab'vrae, Baelas, and Kolgar were sent to eliminate the evil creature, and it was Sab'vrae's red glowing blade that finally slew the beast.

His post nearing its completion, the dark elf let his eyes wander to the horizon longingly. The pas ten years were much more enjoyable than any of his time spent in Ched Nasad, true, yet… Sab'vrae wished to explore more of this still strange and exotic world. Nai'lan and the other druids spoke of dry, steaming deserts, rocky high mountains, salty vast oceans, lush rolling plains, swampy marshlands, and many other natural wonders. The fighter/druid yearned to explore more of Faerun, and perhaps even the other, lesser known continents on Toril. His love for adventure and battle could no longer be sated even in the dangerous Lurkwood.

The drow sighed, descending down the tree, moving skillfully from limb to limb. Lurkwood's grove had become a home, a place of peace and sanctuary for him. Its inhabitants were family to him -- much more so than his blood relatives ever felt. Leaving them would be hard, that he knew, but he soul craved the road, longed to visit distant cities and towns. To meet knew people, even if it meant facing discrimination and hardship. To spread the teachings of tolerance and love as decreed by his venerated goddess.

He pulled his odd piwafwi around himself again, shivering. Traveling in the winter was hard and dangerous. Perhaps he'd wait until spring came, and conditions were more favorable. Yes, that seemed the wiser choice. Still, he'd give the grove a heads up on the issue, so the news would not shock them come the middle of Ches. Trudging through the shin deep snow, Sab'vrae ventured back to his home and friends.

---------

Baelas sighed, knowing the day, after months of apprehension, had come. "Must you leave us?" he asked the drow for the thousandth time. Sab'vrae laughed, clapping a hand on the wood elf's shoulder.

"Baelas, you are my best friend, a brother to me, and I mean that in the true essence of the word, not the drow meaning." This brought a chuckle to the sun elf druid's lips. "But, you know I must go where my soul wills me to. I fought hard to reach the surface, and it seems like a waste if I spend the rest of my centuries just here in Lurkwood. I want to see the rest of the lands, see what nature can achieve in other climates."

The sun elf conceded to the point, remembering his brief days of adventuring in years long since passed, "I understand, Sab'vrae, but… I insist you don't leave without a few parting gifts."

"You and the grove took me in when I was alone and confused in a foreign world. Why would I need anything more from you guys?" Sab'vrae questioned.

"If you're going to travel Faerun, I think you'd come to appreciate the value of useful trinkets." Baelas grinned. Nai'lan, who'd come to see the drow off with the rest of the grove, nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I think we can give you some things of use that aren't necessary for us anymore." He retreated to his hut, as did Baelas to his own. A few minutes later, the two elves returned, objects clasped in their hands. Baelas went first, dropping a gold, ruby encrusted ring into Sab'vrae's ebony hand.

"I acquired this during my own brief adventuring days," the sun elf explained. "It will reduce the damage of any elemental attack by half." Sab'vrae slipped the ring onto his right ring finger, the left already occupied by the druid's leaf ring.

"I'm sure I can find a use for it in my travels. Thank you, my friend." Baelas nodded, smiling. At a sudden impulse, he pulled the drow into a great bear hug. Surprised, the dark elf let out a gush of air, then recovered, patting his best friend on the back. "I'll miss you too, Baelas."

Chuckling, Nai'lan waited until the duo unlatched from one another. He presented the drow with a pair of boots.

"These leather boots are enchanted to hasten your steps without tiring yourself out," the archdruid said, "I received them as a gift from my father many, may decades ago, but I no longer need them. Didn't use them that often, in all honesty. I think you might find them useful, though." Sab'vrae hugged the wood elf in thanks, donning the boots. Rolain approached him next, the human presenting him with a pair of leather gloves.

"Made out of the same tough and flexible cattle hide as your armor!" Rolain grinned, "And with a few enchantments, as well, though that should come as little surprise! I had these crafted for you some time ago -- originally, I intended them as a birthday gift, but today will work just as well. I know how your druid abilities are somewhat limited due to your choice in weapons, so these gloves will increase the effectiveness of your druid spells."

Sab'vrae slipped the brown gloves over his hands, impressed by the fit. Not too loose, yet not too tight. Perfect for absorbing some of the perspiration caused by wielding his blades after a long time. "Thank you, Rolain."

Elari came next, though her hands remained empty. "My gift is not an object you can grasp," she explained, "but I think you'll like it. You still wish to hide the fact you're a drow when traveling, yes?"

Sab'vrae nodded, remembering the decision he'd made in the past winter. Not at all ashamed of his heritage, the dark elf simply wished to travel the roads without being attacked on sight. His clothing reflected such a choice, as well.

Baggy, thin, earth green leather pants covered his legs down to his shins, where the boots of speed began. A loose cattle leather shirt covered his torso up to his biceps, serving as light armor. Simple enchantments enhanced protectiveness of the clothing. Reddish brown bindings ran down the drow's arms, concealing his skin up to his wrists. Rolain's gloves reached up to an inch below Sab'vrae's elbow. Two belts stretched over Sab'vrae's shoulders, under his cloak, and met at a metal ring in the center of his chest. On the bottom of the ring, another vertical belt extended downwards, hooked to the buckle of the belt around his waist. This semi elaborate system was meant to hold his two swords in place on his back. His black cowl was pulled over his head, and in his hand, Sab'vrae had long piece of cloth to cover the lower half of his face with.

"Yes, it is true still." The drow admitted. Smiling knowingly, Elari extended her fingers, covered in some green substance, probably mashed herbs, to his forehead. She drew a druidic glyph on his forehead, muttering a spell. She finished, examining his face.

"Touch the mark on your forehead and speak the command word, '_ehhiel._'" She instructed. He gave her an odd look, but complied, placing two fingers against the symbol.

"'_Ehhiel_." He declared. The drow felt no different, but the looks of surprise and Elari's confident countenance told him something had changed.

"Your skin's turned green, at least on your face." She explained, "And your eyebrows are also green, though many shades darker. Your hair and the rest of your body are unaffected, however. I can't make the enchantment more powerful than it is now. Touch your forehead and say, '_femact._'" Once again, Sab'vrae obeyed. The grove blinked in mild surprise again, and Elari smirked to herself. "Perfect. It works as I intended. Your skin's back to normal, and now the glyph is invisible. Touch your forehead and speak the command words whenever you wish to change the color of your skin to a from green. That way, people won't know if you're a drow unless you let them. Well, that, and as long as you hide those nice white locks. 'Tis a pity."

Sab'vrae laughed, hugging the moon elf, "Thank you very much, Elari." He followed her instructions and changed his face back to green. Tying his cloth face mask over his nose and mouth, he turned to the group. "How do I look?"

"Like an assassin." Baelas laughed, punching the drow on the arm lightly. "Hey, you gonna use your name while you travel, or fabricate one? Not many people will notice a drow name when they hear it, but those well read might. You gonna risk that?" Sab'vrae frowned, considering this.

"Good point," he admitted, "No, I think only my close friends will know my true name. To everyone else, I will be… Serosa'ruth."

Nai'lan nodded in approval, "Elven for 'Nature's Fury,' quite appropriate for a traveling druid. Good luck on the roads, all right?" The dark elf nodded, turning to leave.

"Farewell, my friends," Sab'vrae waved as he walked out of the grove, "I promise I'll visit again someday!"

"We look forward to it! Take care and make sure you return before I go completely gray!" Rolain called with a laugh. Sab'vrae chuckled and shook his head, disappearing through the trees.


	23. Chapter 22

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Chapter 22

Traveling the road to the west, Sab'vrae eventually turned towards the south, on the road to Longsaddle. He smiled behind the black cloth, enjoying the pleasant weather. The drow fingered his pack, stored in his pocket. Lathhan had enchanted his pack to shrink and grow to normal size on command, making travel on foot much more easier.

Sab'vrae journeyed through the dusty lands with little action for over a week. During his twelfth day or so on the road, he reached a small town its inhabitants called Ashford. Walking through the cobble streets, he noted a few townspeople gave him odd looks, but didn't seem too surprised. Perhaps they were accustomed to strange visitors. Sab'vrae browsed the market stalls and small shops, searching for any items of possible interest. He restocked his food supplies, but otherwise found nothing he could use.

The fighter/druid looked up, eyeing a wooden sign hanging above a door, proclaiming, "The Happy Jug." Sab'vrae chuckled. Quite a suitable name for a tavern. Though not a huge fan of alcoholic drinks -- he often found their taste too bitter for his liking -- the drow decided a small taste of the local beverages wouldn't hurt. Sab'vrae entered the dimly lit bar, noting the shady characters assembled around the tables. He would fit in here.

Seating himself at a small table in the corner, he waited patiently for the barmaid to serve him. After a few minutes, a young human woman approached his table, empty mugs in her hands.

"Can I help you, elf?" She asked, looking a bit flustered by the rowdy customers.

"A small mug of mead will be fine, thank you." Sab'vrae ordered politely.

"Be right back." The barmaid sighed, weaving through the mostly drunk and jovial crowd. Sab'vrae leaned back in his seat, observing his surroundings.

"Hey, you hear 'bout them impeding orc raids?" a greasy gnome asked his company, a hairy and dirty half-orc man. The large hybrid gulped half a tankard of ale, wiping his mouth off with his shaggy arm.

"So what? We get orc raids quite often here, or, at least, attempts of raids. The clans around here are too stupid and small in size to be any threat."

"Not from what I hear," the gnome disagreed, poking at his half eaten meat. "Word is that the local orc tribes are going to unite so they can effectively ransack the town." Sab'vrae listened intently, jumping slightly when the barmaid set his mug on the table.

"It's three coppers a drink," she said, "Pay me now or the bartender when you're leaving."

"One is plenty, thanks." Sab'vrae turned his ears back to the other table, pulling his face cloth down and sipping his mead slowly. Still more bitter than he enjoyed, but sweeter than most alcoholic drinks he'd had before.

"Oh really?" the half-orc took another swig of his drink, "Orcs rarely cooperate with other tribes."

"True," his gnome companion agreed, "but they say Chief Wrukag's eager to plunder, and is trying to get as many orc tribes under his command as possible."

"Puh. So the thing falls apart if Wrukag's killed, right?" The half-orc rolled his eyes, "Ain't happening. He's a mean one, Wrukag, and no one's gonna want to assassinate him. Anyone that could is out slaying dragons and other bigger fish, anyway."

"Suppose we should get moving before trouble arrives here, then." The gnome noted. Sab'vrae quickly downed his tankard and dropped a few copper coins on the bartender's counter as payment. Walking out of the tavern, the fighter/druid ventured out into the nearby forest to investigate.

---------

As the adventurer neared the deepest confines of the woods, cries and clangs of battle hit his ears. Unsheathing Eilistraee's Smite and Demon Slayer, the drow rushed ahead to the noise's source. He stopped behind a cluster of trees and bushes to quickly examine the scene before him. Near the edge of a ravine, five orcs battled with another adventurer. Apparently, he wasn't the only elf trying to remove the orc threat.

In the center of the five orc attack stood a young elven woman, probably moon elf. Her skin was darker than other moon elves he knew, but still pale in comparison to others. Long, brown hair fell to her mid back. A slight wave in her locks indicated she tied it up often, but, probably, the tie had been torn off in battle. The elven fighter wore simple, scant armor over her reddish brown tunic and pants. Breastplate armor covered her torso, and she wore metal gauntlets over her forearms. Thin metal boots adorned her from the mid shin to her feet; otherwise, the elf wore no other armor.

Yelling incomprehensible battle cries, the fighter charged at the oncoming orcs with a bastard sword in hands. She ducked the swings of the first two and countered with swift blows to the chest and neck. Impressed, Sab'vrae paused in his urge to aid, waiting to see if the woman truly needed aid. So far, she fared well enough on her own. The woman impaled the third orc through the heart, but her blade caught on the creature's spine, deterring her efforts to dislodge it. She kicked the fourth orc away, but the fifth and largest came in fast from her left.

Rushing forward, Sab'vrae slashed his blades, decapitating the orc in a scissors like movement. The fourth orc, recovering from the elf maid's kick, barely managed to block the onslaught of duel wielding attacks by the male drow. Irritated, the orc raised its axe and slammed it downwards. Sab'vrae ducked and rolled away, and the axe hit the ground instead. Seeing his advantage, Sab'vrae stab into the orc's back and kicked its rump hard to dislodge his weapon.

Losing its balance, the orc stumbled forward and toppled over the bluff's edge. Panicking, the monster grabbed the closest object -- the elf woman's ankle. Chestnut eyes widening in surprise, the woman was pried from her blade and fell over the edge with the orc. The monster quickly lost its grip on the woman and went tumbling down the rocky wall, the elf woman falling swiftly above it.

Sab'vrae dropped his swords and ran over and dropped to his stomach, thrusting his arm down and latching onto the woman's forearm before she flew out of reach. The woman grabbed his arm with her free hand to reinforce the hold, and he the same. Straining his upper body, the drow pulled himself, and, in effect, the woman, up and away from the ledge. Once she was waist up on the ground, the woman pulled herself up, and Sab'vrae sat back, gasping for air.

"I thank you for your help," The moon elf gasped, clutching her chest to recover her own breath. Sab'vrae merely nodded in acknowledgement. The woman stood, walking over to dead orcs. She kicked the one over on its back and placed her foot on its chest. Yanking hard on her blade's hilt, she attempted to pull the sword out, but to no avail. "Dammit!"

"Here, let me help." Sab'vrae offered, walking over to her. He placed his hands over hers and pulled with her, finally dislodging the crimson soaked blade.

"Thanks once again," the moon elf woman chuckled somewhat grimly, swishing her blade out to remove the blood stains. She slid the sword back into its sheath on her hip. "Figures I manage to wipe out an entire orc band and only get my sword stuck on the leader and his elite squad."

"Wait, you took care of the orc threat?" Sab'vrae asked, half surprised, half disappointed. He retrieved his swords and sheathed them on their cases over his back.

"Yes, though I see you managed to kill Wrukag." The two elves glanced down at the headless orc chieftain. "After I caught word of the impeding threat of a raid, I decided to settle the matter. I found their camp just a few hundred yards from here. Their horde was much smaller than rumors stated, but they still put up a good fight. They're not too hard to kill on a large scale if you manage to sneak up on most of them. Orcs aren't very bright." She grinned, extending her hand out to the concealed drow. "I'm Ky'itae Rilynn'lylth. And you are…?"

"Serosa'ruth. Just Serosa'ruth." Sab'vrae shook Ky'itae's hand. She raised a brown eyebrow at him.

"Are you a druid?" she asked bluntly.

"Well, fighter and a druid, but yes." The drow answered honestly.

"I figured. Any chance I'd be able to know your _real_ name?" Sab'vrae's cheeks flushed, though it was impossible to notice under his green skin enchantment and cloth half face cover.

"Perhaps one day," he shrugged, "In any case, Ky'itae, you've put me out of an orc slaying adventure, so I'm going to have to go on my way. I'm headed towards Longsaddle. You're welcome to join me, if you wish." He turned and walked slowly out of the clearing. Ky'itae rubbed her chin in thought, then ran to catch up with him.

"I think I'll tag along since you'd probably make a helpful ally in battle," she decided, then, added with a poke to his ribs, "And so I can find out what your name is and what kind of elf you are. I doubt you'd tell me that one, huh? I know that green skin's not natural in elves other than perhaps our aquatic cousins." Sea elves could stay on land, but only for a short period of time before they needed to breathe water again. Obviously, this cloaked fighter was a land elf, but she couldn't determine what race.

Sab'vrae chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "Perhaps you'll know them both one day, my female fighting companion." Ky'itae sighed in frustration, but let the topic drop. Sab'vrae chortled to himself again, glad to have a traveling comrade, even if it only lasted for a short time. Watching the sun begin to settle below the distant trees, the drow smiled to himself, remembering why he enjoyed the sight so. He wondered where fate and nature would lead him, knowing much awaited him in his future. Presently, Sab'vrae simply continued onwards with his new ally, ready for whatever challenge lay ahead.

****

Author's End Notes:

Well, that's all for the first book! I hope you enjoyed it. I know, the ending seems a bit rushed, but I couldn't find a better way to depict it. I'm not sure when I'll get the second volume out. I recently restarted my web comic, Samurai BANZAI! (www-sbanzai-hcmworld-com change the "-" to ".") That's almost two years of comics to redo. However, originally I did the comic once or twice a week. Now, I've decided to make it a monthly update, with one chapter per month. I'm in my senior year of high school now, and have already been accepted into Armstrong Atlantic University for college, so I don't know how much writing time I'll get. Neither am I sure if I should write the entire second book first, then release chapter by chapter on here, or just update as I write the chapters. Hopefully, I won't leave this series standing, because I have many ideas I'd like to put to use. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you liked the first Kallo'Yel installment as much as I did writing it.


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